


Of Darkspawn and Dragons

by writingfromthevoid (luciferxrising)



Series: Of Darkspawn and Dragons [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Asexual Character, F/M, Multi, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), Non-binary protagonist, Original Dalish Origin, Other, Polyamory, Re-telling of Dragon Age Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-26 05:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 91,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13229148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferxrising/pseuds/writingfromthevoid
Summary: Werewolves and darkspawn, blood magic and demons... and just some very awful shem nobles. Join Lux Mahariel, Rose Amell and Tori Tabris on a journey through Ferelden as they work together to defeat the Fifth Blight.





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

> so here it is! like a month ago i decided that i really wanted to write something nice and self-indulgent to help me practice writing longer works, and seeing as the dragon age franchise remains one of my faves to this day, i thought, well, why not write some self-insert da:o fic? like two days later i already had two chapters written out and a timeline set up, as well as most decisions for choices in the game thought out.
> 
> this story is self-insert, so if that bothers you, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ dont read it! this story follows the dragon age origins plotline for three wardens (based on me and my two best friends): lux mahariel, a dalish mage (with a heavily modified dalish origin), rosemary amell, a human circle mage, and victoria 'tori' tabris, a city elf rogue.
> 
> i have a good amount of chapters already written out, and will be posting them on a weekly schedule until i either finish or run out of pre-written things. i loveloveLOVE feedback, even if its just a simple 'i liked this thing'. this is also the first time im posting a longer work on here, so we shall see how that goes.
> 
> if you have any questions/feedback/suggestions you can also always reach me on tumblr, on reaper-kravitz.tumblr.com
> 
> (also if you wanna send some love to my lovely co-wardens, rose can be found on tumblr and ao3 as celticrune, and tori can be found on tumblr as kima-ladyofvord!)

Running. Running. Branches snap under heavy footfalls, digging into bared skin, leaving gashes, scrapes. A stumble, a near-fall, but not quite, keep running, must keep running.

            Lux bursts through the edge of the clearing, tear-streaked face set into an expression of determination. They fall to one knee in exhaustion, but tucks into a roll and gets back up, their head shooting backwards to look behind them. Their eyes widen in fear as they see a hurlock on their heels, and they skid to a halt, raising their staff up in a defensive position –

            And then a sword comes down, separating the darkspawn’s head from its neck. It bounces on the forest floor, rolling momentarily before coming to a stop. Lux lets out a breath they didn’t realise they were holding, but doesn’t release the tight grip on their staff. Instead, they point it towards the human stepping into the clearing. The man, dark-skinned and dark-haired, wearing armour of blue and grey, lowers his blade, then thinks the better of it and sheaths it entirely. He holds out his hands in a gesture of peace; Lux bares their teeth and keeps their stance.

            “Do not step closer, _shemlen_ ,” they warn. Then their knees buckle and hit the ground, hard. They cough up a spatter of blood, and it’s dark against the dirt, darker than it should be, and they wince.

            The human, not heeding their warning, steps closer, crouching down in front of them. “Please remain calm. I mean you no harm.”

            Lux lashes out, a bolt of crackling lighting going wide, shooting off into the forest. Then they collapse further, hands barely managing to keep their face from hitting the ground. They mutter a muffled curse, pushing themselves back upright on shaking arms.

            When the man reaches out to touch them, however, they shoot backwards instead, muscles tensed up.

            “Please,” he says, hand still outstretched, face patient, like he was handling a wounded animal. “I only wish to help you.”

            Slowly, Lux pushes their shoulders down and lets their fists relax, taking a deep breath. “Do not touch me. I am sick.” They touch the side of their face, where they feel the veins bulging. They try to summon spirit energy to at least close the red, inflamed gauges lining the sides of their face, but they never have been good at the healing part of magic, and the energy fizzles out on their fingertips.

            “I can help,” the man says, and Lux barks out a harsh laugh.

            “You cannot fool me. I know this,” they dig their nails into the side of their face, “this is not something that can be treated. I am not ignorant.”

            The man smiles and scoots closer. “Do you know what this means?” he asks, touching his hand to his chest. Or, more specifically, to his breastplate, which has a griffon inlaid into the metal.

            Lux studies it with a frown. They have heard tales of this symbol, of what meaning it carries, and they are confused.

            “What is a Warden doing out here?”

            The Grey Warden laughs and shakes his head. “You should be glad I was, or else we would not be here, talking.”

            “No, if you were not here I would indeed not be talking to you.” After this sneer, they recoil in pain as their veins pulse sharply. Still, they steel themselves to continue talking. “And you have not answered my question.”

            “Indeed, I have not.” That seems to be the end of that discussion, and Lux resigns themselves to dropping it. “What is more important right now, is that I can help you. I am looking for recruits, and you possess quite the stamina and perseverance to still be upright. That is something we value in our order.”

            “Your order. The Grey Wardens.” He simply inclines his head expectantly. “You would recruit an elf into your prestigious order?”

            “We accept anyone and everyone, so long as they are willing to stand against the darkspawn.”

            “You said you can help me. Cure me.” They pause, lost in thought for a moment. “I do not suppose you would cure me and send me back to my clan.”

            It’s not a question, but the Warden still answers. “Curing the Taint and becoming a Grey Warden are entwined. It is not something you come back from.”

            Lux hums, then braces themselves on the ground and slowly starts to stand. The man tries to help them, but one look from them makes him pull back. “I suppose,” they murmur, teeth grinding in exertion, “between dying from this sickness, or dying fighting against the darkspawn, I would rather go down swinging.” The man hands them their staff as he gets up, and they lean heavily on it, looking at him, face grim but determined. “Consider me in.”

            “That is good to hear,” he says, smile back on his bearded face. “Forgive me, I had not introduced myself. My name is Duncan, and I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens.” He starts to walk ahead of them.

            “ _Andaran atish’an,_ Duncan,” they answer, following slowly. “My name is Lux Mahariel.”


	2. Loyalty

By the time they get to Lake Calenhad, Lux is about ready to drop. Duncan gave them a hooded cloak that they have drawn up over their face to hide the worst of the Taint, but their illness is still visible in their laboured way of walking, and so when they get to the docks, they are easily permitted access to the Tower. After a short boat ride, they arrive at the edges of Kinloch Hold.

            Lux stares up at the looming tower with a pained face. “So this is where you _shems_ lock up your mages,” they state coldly.

            Duncan looks at them with an expression of compassion. “Be assured that in the Grey Wardens, you are all treated equally. Human or elf, mage or warrior.”

            They scoff, and head for the door. “Yet, you do not see it fit to change the situation in the rest of Thedas.”

            “Grey Wardens don’t involve themselves with politics.”

            Lux wants to reply, but then the doors are swung open. An older human man stands before the both of them, wearing the robes of a mage and leaning on a staff.

            “Duncan,” he greets the Commander, “what an unexpected pleasure. To what do I have the honour?” His eyes trail down, and then widen.

            “I was, in all honesty, looking for recruits, but we have a more pressing matter to attend to first.” Lux pulls their hood back slightly to look up at the man. “I found Lux here infected with the Taint not long ago. They will undergo the Joining, but need some medical attention first, I’m afraid. They will not make it to Ostagar without.”

            The man, who Lux gathers is one of the leading figures here, nods, and steps aside to let them in. “Of course, of course. Sorry, your name was?”

            “Lux Mahariel,” they answer, voice hoarse.

            “A pleasure, Lux. I am First Enchanter Irving of the Ferelden Circle.” They are led down a hallway that curves like the tower itself, until they reach a spacious room, furnished with unmade beds. At Irving’s insistence, they sit down on one, trying not to show their relief. It has been a long walk.

            “I will go and get a healer for you. We are not able to cure the Taint entirely, of course, but…” He looks at Duncan, who shakes his head.

            “We didn’t expect you to. Just enough to keep them alive for a week or two more.” It sounds so ominous when Duncan says it, but Lux cannot find it in them to care much. They had expected to die when they saw that hurlock. That they’re alive today is a miracle of itself.

            Irving walks off, and Duncan follows after, talking to the man, leaving them alone. Or well, not alone. There are a few people inside what they assume to be the medical bay; one bed is occupied by a younger mage, scorch marks covering the left side of his face. By another stand two women, one older, one younger but much taller. They look like teacher and student: the older woman is trying to explain something to the younger, who looks disinterested. Eventually, the older woman huffs and storms off, muttering to herself.

            The younger mage turns with a slight smirk, and Lux looks at her with amusement. She has a shock of bright red hair that offsets the blue and black of her robes. The mage sees them looking and curls her fingers in a slight wave, before approaching.

            “I… may have overheard Irving when he said something about the Taint. Are you… going to be alright?”

            “Do you know what the Taint is?” Lux pulls their hood back entirely, showing the blackened skin, the thinning hair, their sunken eye sockets. The mage recoils, her face a mixture of disgust and guilt.

            “Sorry, I -”

            “I think I will be alright,” they continue, voice softer. The girl looks relieved. Lux pulls their hood back up; no need to draw extra attention to themselves. “I will be joining the Grey Wardens.”

            “And that will cure the Taint?”

            “Duncan said it would. I have no choice but to believe him.”

            “That’s interesting. I have read things about the Wardens, and it did say they were immune to the Taint.”

            Lux decides to grab their chance. “What else have you read?”

            “Oh, plenty.” The mage sits down on the bed next to them, a spark in her eyes, and suddenly they regret they ever asked.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Lux knows a whole lot more information about the Wardens than they ever did. They also found out the mage is called Rose, and that she has just undergone her Harrowing, which is apparently some top secret ritual that all apprentices have to go through to become fully fledged mages. They’re just about to pry her for more information, when Irving and Duncan return.

            “Making friends I see,” Irving comments, and at first Lux thinks he’s talking to them, but then Rose shrugs and gets up.

            “Uh, I should go find Enchanter Marya.” She gets up, shoots one last look at Lux, then quickly walks away, out of the room.

            Irving has a twinkle in his eyes as they follow her out of the room, after which he looks back at Lux. Another mage has followed them, a man with long hair and a kindly smile who crouches down beside the bed and looks at them. They look at Duncan, who nods, and they lower their hood again, looking at what they suppose must be the healer with slight suspicion.

            “This is Enchanter Kyrion, Lux,” Irving says with a smile. “He will soothe the worst of your… condition so you are able to continue your journey.”

            “I will warn you,” the Enchanter says, looking up at Duncan. “This treatment will take  a few days.”

            “That’s fine,” he replies. “We have some time. Irving?”

            “You will be provided with rooms, of course,” the First Enchanter assures him, and Duncan nods.

            “You have my thanks.”

            Preparations made, Kyrion looks back to Lux and puts a hand on their knee. They have to stop themselves from rearing back, and instead just grit their teeth.

            “Now, if you could please lay down for me, I will commence the treatment…”

 

Four days later, Lux has had about enough of this tower. They simply do not understand how mages can live here – it’s cramped, there’s so many rules, and templars breathe in one’s neck at every corner.

            The templars might just be the worst part. They had heard of them, fearful stories from city elves who had ran away to be with the Dalish, about how templars would hunt the Alienages for possible mages, take them screaming from their homes, from their families. Even now, they can feel their eyes on them, searing into their skin even through the dark hood they have taken to wearing everywhere.

            The treatment is catching on at least, and they no longer feel like dying with every single breath they take, so in the afternoon they venture out of the sick bay, insistent on at least seeing one other part of the tower. Mages still stare at them as they walk by, and they’re sure they paint a picture, a hobbling, hooded elf with a staff, but they’re able to mostly ignore it by now. There’s only a few of the mages here that they can stand – Enchanter Kyrion is one, as the man has been nothing but kind to them since he started treating them. Rose is the other. The girl has visited her every single day up until now, usually simply to tell her something she has read, or divulge in some gossip about some Enchanter or another.

            They haven’t seen her today, however, and maybe that’s what has given them the energy to finally get up and move around.

            Around one corner, they hear her voice ring out though. Then Duncan’s. And Irving’s. And… The bossy templar man? Now that is one odd combination. Lux can’t tame their curiosity, and peeks around the corner.

            What they see is… not pretty. Rose _is_ there, covered in blood, together with a human girl wearing Chantry robes. Opposite them stand Duncan, Irving, and three templars, and they are all in a heated discussion. They don’t pick up much, seeing they came in in the midst of a conversation, but a smile creeps across their face when Duncan calls on the Right of Conscription and recruits Rose into the order.

            When the two of them come around the corner, they stop short at the sight of them. Lux waves sheepishly.

            “You… ah, no matter. It, ah, seems we need to leave. Soon.” Duncan gives them a once-over. “How are you feeling?”

            “I’ll be alright,” they answer, trying to stand up the straightest they can. “Enchanter Kyrion said I was making good progress.”

            “I will talk to him on the way out, see if you need more care. Do you have your things?” The question is directed at both them and Rose, and they both give him a nod back. “Very well. We’re off, then.”

            He sets off towards the entrance, Rose following meekly in tow. Lux follows after, wondering just what the bookish mage did to invoke such anger in the authorities.


	3. Slightest

“So, we are off to Ostagar then?” Rose asks the moment they all step into the boat. She’s been a bit more upbeat ever since she stepped out of the tower, staring up at the sky and her surroundings with wonder in her eyes. Lux feels bad for her, almost. She probably hasn’t been outside proper ever since they locked her up in here.

            “Not quite, no. Not yet, at least.” Duncan shoots Lux a guilty look, but they shrug. Enchanter Kyrion equipped them with a batch of herbal ointments and potions to help stabilise their condition on the road, so they should be good for a few weeks at least. Duncan continues, “We are heading to Denerim first, for one last stop.”

            “Why Denerim, anyway?” Lux asks. They don’t know much about the city, only that it’s large and important to Ferelden..

            “There is someone- well, you’ll see.”

            The boat stops back at the docks, and they let the subject drop for now. Instead, they turn to Rose. The mage-turned-convict-turned-grey-warden-recruit has changed into a set of clean robes, and is still looking around with interest.

            “Hey. Mage girl.” She turns to face them with a raised eyebrow.

            “You say, carrying a staff.”

            Lux shrugs. “Human girl. So, where are you from, like, originally?”

            She frowns, lost in thought for a moment, and they start to wonder if maybe they asked a wrong question, when she responds. “The Free Marches. Kirkwall, I believe. It’s been… very long.”

            “Do they not have a Circle in Kirkwall?” Lux had been close to there once, in their travels, though they can’t recall much.

            “I suppose they just wanted me to be away from my mother.”

            “That is cruel.” They frown, looking away. It _is_ cruel, but then again, is it much different in their home clan? Do they not send mages away to other clans if they have too many?

            Duncan breaks the silence, to their relief. “I sense darkspawn up ahead; we’d best make a detour to avoid them.”

 

The trip to Denerim seems to last an eternity. Lux is used to travel, and used to walking, but not like this, with two people they barely know and a sickness that makes itself known at the most inopportune moments.

            Still, they get there, and they suppose that counts.

            The city is big, as they expected, and stinks, as they expected, and is crowded with people. Basically, it is their worst nightmare given shape.

            This feeling of disgust and discomfort is multiplied by tenfold when Duncan leads the two of them towards the gates of the Alienage.

            “What are we doing here?” Lux hisses to him as they pass a pair of human guards at the entrance.

            “Be patient. You will see in just a moment.”

            The Alienage itself is worse than they ever imagined. Beggars sit at the sides of beaten paths, often blind or otherwise disabled. Rats and other vermin run amok in the streets. There does seem to be somewhat of a festive cheer in the place; the large tree in the centre is decorated, and elves drink wine and chat amongst each other.

            Lux wants to leave immediately.

            As they stand at the entrance, the two recruits drinking in the sights, two elves approach them. They both have short, red hair and are wearing what looks like their nicest clothing. They also do not look happy to see the three of them.

            “Good day,” Duncan greets them. “I understand congratulations are in order for your impending wedding.”

            “I do not know what you’re doing here, but it would be best for you to leave,” the woman says, her mouth a grim line.

            “What do you mean?”

            The woman shrugs, looks over at her companion, then back at Duncan. Lux is surprised to notice she doesn’t have to look up at all – while elves tend to stand somewhat shorter than most humans, she is close to Rose’s height, albeit more lean and skinny.

            “The Alienage just isn’t a good place for humans to be.”

            “I’m sorry,” Duncan responds with a firm voice, “but we have no intention of leaving.”

            The male elf is throwing her frantic looks, but she stands her ground. “I will ask once more, politely. Leave. Please.”

            “And what if I refuse?”

            Lux looks up at Duncan with confusion. When they meet Rose’s eyes, they see that she, too, doesn’t understand what’s going on. Why is he so insistent on staying if they’re not welcome here?

            “I won’t back down. This is not your place.”

            Duncan smiles and inclines his head. “Standing your ground against an armoured and armed man. A most impressive quality. Don’t you agree, Valendrian?”

            Lux starts as they realise an older elf had been standing slightly behind the two Alienage elves for a while now, simply watching the goings on. He steps forwards now, and the girl relaxes her stance almost immediately, bowing her head.

            “I’m sorry, I had no idea…”

            “No harm done,” Duncan replies amicably.

            “May I introduce to you, Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. And…” He trails off, looking at Rose and Lux, who had been silent up until this point.

            “The worst has happened, my old friend.” His face turns more grim. “A Blight is upon Ferelden. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens to Ostagar.”

            “So I have heard. I am afraid you have rather inopportune timing, my friend; there is to be a wedding, today. Two, in fact.”

Duncan is quick to reassure him. “By all means, do attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait, for now.”

 

After the two elves make their awkward escape, the three of them are left to their own devices. There is some time before the ceremonies begin, and so Lux and Rose find themselves wandering the Alienage aimlessly, exploring the small and confined space.

            “Makes me happy to be Dalish,” Lux remarks. “Proud to be one. Not locked up in a cage, like other elves and mages.”

            Rose grimaces, looking down. “If it means walking around barefoot all day, I’ll take the Circle, thanks.”

            They laugh. Of course this _shemlen_ wouldn’t understand what it’s like to feel the bare ground beneath your feet.

            Though, if they step in dog shit one more time, they might just start looking for a pair of boots.

            “Ceremony’s about to begin,” Rose notes, and they both head in that direction. It’s short, sweet, but there is unrest in the air. Soon enough, this reveals itself to be a gang of human males, noble, by the looks of them, disturbing the wedding and grabbing at the women. Both mages have spells on their lips, hands on their staves, but Duncan is right behind them immediately, staying their hands.

            “No,” he says softly. At their protest, he shushes them. “We do not have power here. The relationship between the Wardens and the noble houses of Ferelden is tenuous enough – we do not need to sow more unrest and distrust.”

            “They are taking the women,” Lux spits out in disgust. “Helpless elven women, who cannot fight back lest they are murdered. You cannot stand for this.”

            “And I don’t.”

 

During a talk with Valendrian, who is understandably upset, the two would-be grooms approach.

            “Where are the women now?” the blond one asks, holding the back of his head with a pained expression.

            Valendrian gives him a sympathetic look. “To the arl’s palace, I imagine.”

            “Then we need to do something. Now.”

            There’s a murmur of unrest in the crowd, before one voice pipes up, louder than the rest.

            “Elder, if I may. I work inside the palace. I could sneak one or two elves in through the servant’s entrance. No one notices an extra elf or two.”

            After a brief discussion, the two grooms agree to go, and Duncan steps forwards.

            “You will need weapons for where you’re going. Allow me.” He takes a longsword and a crossbow off of his back, and offers them to the boys. He looks back briefly at Lux and Rose, who nod at him. If Lux was feeling better, perhaps they would have offered to come with – now, however, the stress of the goings-on have already left them weak in the knees, and all they can do is give the grooms a sympathetic look.

            Duncan starts demonstrating to the blond elf how to hold his sword properly, and so they walk over to the redhead, who is staring at the crossbow with an intimidated look.

            “Let me,” they murmur, taking it from him and showing him how to load and shoot. It won’t be much help for long, but at least he will be able to marginally defend himself.

            “I- thank you.” There’s a brief pause, as he mimics their movements. “… You’re an elf too, aren’t you?”

            They glance up, raising an eyebrow. They hadn’t quite realised that the hood would hide their features, but he’s staring at them now.

            “I am,” is their simple answer.

            “Are you Dalish?”

            They answer with a short hum, correcting his grip on the bow.

            “I’m Soris. One of the women they took was my cousin, Tori.” Ah, so they _were_ indeed related.

            “My apologies. I hope you are able to save her.” They stand up straight, pushing the crossbow into his chest. “ _Dareth shiral,_ Soris. Safe journey.”

 

The waiting is painful. Valendrian is pacing, muttering to himself. “I should have been more subtle in organising the celebration. Vaughan never should have gotten wind of anything.”

            “You were just trying to prevent me from recruiting the girl.”

            Lux raises their eyebrows at Duncan’s comment. Well, he had said there was someone they came to Denerim for.

            “They’re too alike, her mother and her. Both too much fire in them. It got her mother killed, and now I fear it got Tori killed as well. Maker…”

            So, Tori then. Soris’s cousin, the one that spoke up to them when they first entered the Alienage.

            Valendrian accepts two steaming mugs of tea from another man, passing one to Duncan. “Is it true, then? There is a Blight coming?”

            “There are signs. Darkspawn gather in great forces. Ferelden is about to enter a dark time.”

            “So it is.” He looks up sharply as chatter begins to rise from the group of elves gathered around the tree. “They are back.”

           

As far as Lux can tell, most of the elves have returned. The blond groom is missing though, and so is one of the girls, which one of the other women identifies as Nola. Most of the girls trail off, leaving Soris and Tori standing there, covered in blood and scrapes.

            “Vaughan is dead,” she answers, when Valendrian asks them what happened.

            “Then the garrison could already be on their way,” Duncan remarks.

            There is a shout of panic, and then human guards burst through the gates.

            “I seek Valendrian, head of the Alienage,” the one at the front of the group shouts. The elder pushes forwards, hands behind his back in a calm stance.

            “No need to shout, my friend. What is the matter?”

            “Do not play innocent, elder. The arl’s son lies dead in a river of blood that spreads through the entire palace!”

            Lux and Rose exchange glances. Are they to believe these two murdered all the palace guards _and_ Vaughan?

            Tori steps up, face set in determination. She wears Duncan’s longsword on her back, along an unfamiliar dagger. “It was my doing.”

            The guard captain scoffs. “You expect me to believe one women did all that?”

            “We are not all so helpless, Captain.” If Lux hears correctly, there is a certain note of pride in the elder’s voice, but his expression is saddened.

            The captain huffs, then looks down on Tori. “You save many by stepping forwards. I do not envy your fate, but I applaud your courage.” He starts barking orders, but then Duncan steps forwards.

            “Captain, a word if you please.”

            “What is it, Grey Warden?”

            A grin starts to creep up on both Lux’s and Rose’s faces. They know what Duncan is about to say. They’ve both seen it happen before, in the Circle.

            “I invoke the Grey Warden’s Right of Conscription. I hereby remove this prisoner into my custody.”

            Tori looks at him with shock and relief in her eyes. Didn’t see that one coming, then.

            “Son of a tied down-” The guard captain looks like he’s biting back more foul comments, before he sighs, resigned. “Very well, Grey Warden. I cannot challenge your authority. I’ll ask one thing, however. Get this elf out of the city, tonight.”

            “That can be arranged.”

 


	4. The First Journey

The journey to Ostagar takes them almost two more weeks, and it is a journey that Lux would not like to repeat, ever. While they and Rose have been reasonably amicable, despite their differences in opinions on certain subjects, the building tension between them and Tori comes to a boiling point one evening in a road-side tavern.

            “We have the same ears, Dalish, so if you could stop calling mine flat that would be splendid.”

            “I will, as soon as you stop calling me Dalish.”

            “Well, you _are_ , aren’t you?”

            “My _name_ is Lux Mahariel.”

            “Yeah and mine’s Tori Tabris, but the only thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth is _flat-ear this_ , _flat-ear that_ , _by the dead wool_ or whatever.”

            Lux is stopped from either replying or flying at her by Duncan, who steps in between them with a forced smile. “Dinner’s ready, you two.”

            Rose just sighs from the corner and shuts her book.

 

They’re nearly to the bridge to Ostagar, when they’re met with an unexpected sight. “Ho there, Duncan!” a man in golden armour and equally golden hair calls out. He has a big smile on his face.

            “King Cailan?” Duncan replies, bewildered, and Lux hears both Tori and Rose inhale sharply. “I didn’t expect-”

            “A royal welcome?” Cailan grins and spreads his arms. “I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun!”

            So this is the King of Ferelden? He didn’t look too… impressive, if Lux was being honest.

            “Not if I could help it, your majesty,” the Warden replies in a dry voice.

            Cailan doesn’t seem to notice, however, and his grin simply becomes wider. “Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!” He then looks past Duncan, at the others. “I had heard from the other Wardens that you had gathered some promising recruits. I take it these are them?”

            Duncan gives a bow. “Allow me to introduce you, your majesty.”

            “No need to be so formal, Duncan!” No, definitely not very kingly. “We’ll be shedding blood together, after all. Ho there friends! Might I know your names?”

            The three share a look, then Rose steps forwards, crossing her wrists in front of her chest and bowing politely. “My name is Rose Amell, your majesty.”

            “Ah yes! From the Circle, are you not?” Rose nods, looking like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. “We have a few mages from the tower in our midst, but it will be good to have one amongst the Wardens as well.”

            “You shall have two,” Lux responds, tilting their chin up. Cailan glances over at them, and they note the surprise in his face.

            “Wonderful!” he says, recovering quickly. “You are the Dalish elf, then? It is an honour to have one of your folk amongst our ranks.”

            “I did not have much of a choice, but thank you nonetheless.”

            Cailan looks a bit uncomfortable with this, and turns to the last remaining member of their travelling party.

            “And another elf, too! Where do you hail from?”

            “Denerim, your majesty.”

            “Ah, Denerim, a lovely city. I’ve never been to the Alienage myself; my advisors forbid it. How are things there?”

            Tori scoffs. “Lovely, if you don’t count the rape and the beatings and the blatant discrimination.”

            Lux has never seen a man in that much armour look this distressed. It’s almost hilarious.

            “We are going to change that. Just you see, after this battle is over, the situation in the Alienage will improve.” An empty promise, it’s visible in his eyes. Tori doesn’t seem to believe it either, but lets the subject drop. They look past her, to Rose, who seems to be holding back laughter. Cailan turns back to Duncan, obviously in a hurry to get out of this awkward conversation. “Well, I hate to cut this short, but Loghain waits on me in his tent, eager to bore me with talk of strategies.”

            After a brief discussion about the battle ahead, the king makes his leave. Rose gets Duncan’s attention. “He doesn’t seem to take the darkspawn threat very seriously.”

            Duncan hums and shakes his head. “Despite our victories, the horde grows every day. By now, they look to outnumber us. There must be an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feelings.”

            “What would you have him do?”

            “Wait on reinforcements. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few, I’d rather we wait for the Orlesian Wardens to arrive. Now, we must look to Teyrn Loghain to make up for the difference.” He pauses, then looks at the three of them. “We should proceed with the Joining ritual at haste.”

            “A hot meal might be nice first,” Tori mutters in the back, which makes Duncan laugh and agree.

            “What kind of ritual?” asks Rose, keeping pace with the man as they make their way across the bridge.

            “Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon.”

            “Is this anything like the Harrowing?”

            Lux looks at her with interest. She hasn’t spoken of this secret Harrowing ever since they first met, and they still want to know more.

            “It is a similar ordeal. I’m sorry you have to go through another one so soon.”

            “Well,” Tori interjects with a grin, “at least some of us will be prepared. You’ve done a weird ritual before, I’m good at killing things… We can do this.”

            Lux has many responses to this, including ‘and what am I, chopped liver?’ and ‘have either of you ever even seen a darkspawn before?’, but Duncan interrupts before they’re able to open their mouth. That man has an innate ‘the elves are at it again’ sense, it seems.

            “Very well, then. Feel free to explore the camp as you like, though do not stay away too long. There is a fellow Warden here by the name of Alistair – Rose, if you would be so kind as to look for him?” Rose listens to his description of the Warden and nods, walking off. “Tori, if you could find the other recruits, a man named Daveth and a knight called Ser Jory.”

            “Gotcha,” she says, and wanders off as well.

            “Do you need me for anything?” Lux asks, following him to one of the campfires.

            “I’d prefer you stay here, for the time being. Save your energy for the task to come.”

            Lux sighs, but nods. “Can I at least walk around a little bit? I do not like to be cooped up.” They’re aware they sound like a whining child, but they have given up caring. They’re ill, it’s allowed.

            “Just stay in my sights.” With that, Duncan starts talking to someone else. They look around for a while, taking in the camp. They see a sign for the so-called ‘Magi Encampment’, as well as a quartermaster and the royal tents. Then a pen catches their eyes, and they walk a little closer.

            “Is he ill?” they ask of the man in front of the kennel. The dog inside the pen looks morose, separated from the others.

            “Afraid so,” the kennelmaster answers. “Shame, I’d hate to waste such a promising member of the breed. His owner died in the last battle, and the poor thing swallowed darkspawn blood.”

            Lux feels an immediate kinship with the animal, and they frown up at the kennelmaster. “Can you do anything?”

            “Well…” The man looks at them with a calculating look. “I could use some help. I need to treat him, but he won’t let me close enough to muzzle him. Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

            They nod, taking the muzzle from the man and stepping into the pen. The dog cowers, but then sniffs their hands and ducks his head, whimpering plaintively.

            “I know, buddy,” they say soothingly as they crouch down. “It is going to be alright. We are both going to be alright, you will see.” They muzzle the dog and get back up, looking at the kennelmaster. He helps them back out of the pen.

            “Thanks, that helps a bunch. I can treat him now. Dunno how much of a chance he has, but…”

            “Is there anything that could improve his chances?” They don’t know why, but they want to help this animal.

            “Well, there is something… Say, are you going into the Wilds anytime soon?” The Wilds, meaning the forest outside of Ostagar. If they don’t get to go in it, they’ll scale the damn fence themselves.

            “I might be. Why?”

            “There’s a flower that grows there, that I can make into a remedy that will improve the animal’s chances tenfold. Can’t miss it, it’s white with a blood red centre.”

            “I can try to find it. Where does this flower grow?”

            They listen to the explanation given and nod, bidding the man and the dog farewell. When they return, Duncan looks at them with an amused expression.

            “Intelligent animals, Mabari are. Usually imprint for life on one master. They understand human speech, too.”

            “It was Tainted. Like me,” is all the explanation they give, before they sink down on a stool and stare into the fire.

 

After fifteen more minutes of waiting, Rose returns, a human man in Grey Warden armour in tow. He’s laughing at something she said, but falls quiet when the both of them approach Duncan.

            “Ah, Alistair. Been antagonising the mages, have we?”

            Lux holds back a snort at the man’s protests, making him turn towards them.

            “You’re one of the other new recruits then? My name’s Alistair, junior Warden.”

            “Lux Mahariel,” they simply reply.

            “A pleasure. You’re, uh, you’re a mage too, then?”

            Lux snorts again. “What gave it away? The staff or the complete lack of armour?”

            “Just something about the bone structure, probably. Ah, and there’s the others now!”

            Sure enough, Tori comes walking into the group with two human men in tow. She bickers happily with the dark-haired one – the other, a broader, balding man follows quietly, looking embarrassed.

            “- and then he said ‘Here’s a copper for your troubles’!” Her story finished, she looks at the group around the campfire, and smiles. “Brought the other recruits.”

            “She has not been telling wild tales again, has she?” Lux remarks, rolling their eyes.

            “Just pretended she was an elven servant to screw with ser Jory here,” the smaller man, who must be Daveth, answers.

            Ser Jory splutters, face reddening. “How was I to know she was another recruit?”

            “How often d’you see a servant wearing two swords on their back?”

            “If you are all here,” Duncan interrupts, voice booming to carry over the conversation. “You have a task to complete.” The rest falls silent to look at him in expectation. “The five of you will be going into the Korcari Wilds, to gather five vials of darkspawn blood, one for each of you.”

            “What are we using that for? Is that related to the Joining ritual?” Rose is quick to ask, eyes alight with curiosity.

            “You will find out once the task is completed. Now, the Wilds are not the safest place to be, which is why I will be sending Alistair along with you. Besides that, I have another task for you, Alistair.” The junior Warden nods, waiting. “There is a cache of Grey Warden papers deeper in the forest. It used to be situated in a Grey Warden watchtower, but we have had to fall back from the location with the rise of so many darkspawn. I want you to retrieve it and bring it back to us.”

            “Papers and blood. Got it. So we will go now?” Lux asks, getting up with the help of their staff. Duncan shoots them a brief, worried look, but nods.    

            “If you are all ready, you must be off. The Joining will commence once you return. Alistair, watch over your charges, and bring them back safely.”


	5. Into the Wilds

They get attacked by wolves the moment they step into the Wilds, and Lux would love to say they’re surprised. The wildlife here must be greatly disturbed by the emergence of the darkspawn. They saw it around their own clan too, the way the prey started getting less visible, less birdsong, less life in general.

            It’s still highly annoying when one of them goes straight for them, despite them being all the way at the back of the group, flinging spells. Daveth is the first to notice, and he helps distract the beast so they can send a blast of fire straight into it. It drops, smelling of burning hair and meat.

            “Waste of the pelt,” they murmur, going over to inspect the other corpses. Some of them look decently intact, apart from some stab wounds, and they crouch down to start to skin one, when Tori speaks up, hand over a bleeding gash in her neck.

            “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love some fur-lined cloaks, but we don’t exactly have time for that, Dalish.”

            Lux sneers up at her, continuing their work quickly and effortlessly. Within five minutes, they have a reasonably clean wolf pelt that they roll up and tie with a piece of string. “I shall hear you again when it gets cold, flat-ear.”

            “Can we go? We got some darkspawn to kill, blood to drain, all that.”

            As they make to leave, they hear Alistair mutter “I wouldn’t mind a fur blanket” under his breath.

 

After one more ‘unnecessary detour’ to get the flower the kennelmaster spoke of, and the ensuing discussion, Lux and Tori are relegated to the back and the front of the group, respectively. They come across a few bands of darkspawn, easily dispatched, even if their combat dynamic is still something to work on. While Rose and Lux tend to stay at the back, shooting spells from afar, there’s four people in their group that very much like to use their blades on the ‘spawn, and that makes situations a bit crowded at times.

            And then there’s Tori’s… battle strategies. The elf wears leather armour, not dissimilar from the kind the Dalish hunters wear, and she uses a light blade along a longsword, suggesting grace and dexterity. What _doesn’t_ suggest grace and dexterity is the way she sneaks up into a group of enemies, stabs one, and is then immediately overwhelmed as the rest of the group gangs up on her.

            Nonetheless, they manage to collect enough vials of blood, save a wounded soldier, and head on deeper into the Wilds to find the hidden cache. At some point, Alistair suggests they split up, but that idea is quickly shot down by the majority of the group. They follow a Chasind trail for a while, at Rose’s insistence, who figures out there must be a cache hidden close-by.

            Before they get to it, however, they are beset upon by an obviously organised group of darkspawn, who catch them entirely off-guard.

            “Get the mage!” Alistair yells, before charging forwards. He doesn’t get far before he lets out a yelp of pain, the tell-tale metal clanging of a bear trap slamming shut over his leg. Tori rushes over, sliding down to free him and disarm the other trap, while Ser Jory and Daveth each start engaging foes of their own. Lux and Rose take care of the ones behind barricades, balls of fire and bolts of pure arcane energy taking out the ranged fighters.

            It takes them a good while, but eventually, with Alistair free from the trap and all six focusing fire, they take down the ambush. While Tori takes anything valuable off the corpses, Lux and Rose follow the last Chasind landmark to the cache, which mostly contains armour and weapons. Rose pockets the pieces of quartz and topaz, and Lux takes the bow for good measure – it looks finely crafted, and they’re sure someone in the Warden camp will appreciate it. With their treasure pocketed, they return to the group.

            Tori waves a tattered note and a pouch at them. “I found this – research on some demon or whatever. Figured our Circle mage might want to look at them.”

            Rose does, eagerly stepping forwards to inspect the find. After a good minute of reading, she looks up. “Anyone see a very obvious pile of rocks around?”

            Daveth is the first to find it, uphill from the ambush site. They all trek up to it, curious about what the mage has discovered. She motions for everyone to step back, then opens the pouch and takes out a handful of ash, sprinkling it over the stones.

            There is a moment of suspenseful silence, and Lux is ready to call it off as a hoax, but then there is a surge of power. They have barely enough time to call out a warning before the demon is upon them.

            “ **WHO SUMMONS GAZARATH? ****** ** **”****

****  
** **

 

“So,” Lux remarks when they’ve recovered from the battle. They’re sitting on the hill, waiting for Ser Jory to finish bandaging up his leg. “I think we learned a very valuable lesson here. Anyone care to guess?”

            “Don’t fucking summon demons.”

            “I would put it a bit more eloquently, but correct, flat-ear. No more summoning demons. Understood?” They look at Rose, who looks back sheepishly.

            “In my defence, the papers said he would grant a wish. I was going to wish for the Grey Warden papers so we could go back to camp.”

            “You wouldn’t even wish for the Blight to be over?” Alistair looks at her incredulously.

            “That was the second thing on my list, I swear.”

            “Let’s move on,” Ser Jory says, getting up with a wince. “It’s near nightfall, and I don’t know about you all, but I’d prefer not to be here when the sun sets.”

            “Ser knight is right,” Daveth agrees. He gets up as well, extending a hand to Tori to help her upright. “I’m getting antsy out here.”

 

They reach the ruins within another ten minutes of walking. When Alistair confirms the coast is clear, the group makes their way in, finding the cache in the middle, as promised. The chest, however, seems broken, the lid dented in and obviously empty. As Lux gets up from their inspection, they notice a figure descending the steps, and moves back, motioning for the others to be alert as well. The woman comes around the corner, sauntering towards them.

            “Well, well, what have we here?” she asks in a low, sultry voice. She looks human, albeit with strange, yellow eyes that seem to pierce through them. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

            Tori steps forward to stand by Lux’s side. “Neither. Grey Wardens once owned this tower.”

            “’Tis a tower no longer,” the woman says, gesturing behind her at the crumbling ruins. “The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse.” She continues her descent down the stairs, slowly, with purpose. “I have watched your progress for quite some time. ‘Where do they go’, I wondered, ‘why are they here?’ And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is this?”

            Lux wants to speak up, but Alistair is faster, speaking in a mock whisper, “Don’t answer her. She looks Chasind, and that means others might be nearby.”

            The woman gives him a contemptuous glare and a sweep of her hands. “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” There is a laugh in her voice.

            “Yes, swooping is bad…”

            Daveth speaks up, his voice panicked. “She’s a Witch of the Wild, she is! She’ll turn us all into toads!”

            She shakes her head with a wry grin. “Witches of the Wilds? Such idle fantasies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You there.” She looks at Lux, cocking her head. “Elves are not frightened little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine.”

            “I am no boy,” Lux replies, “but you may call me Lux. _Andaran atish’an_ , a pleasure.”

            “Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You,” she says, looking directly at them now, “may call me Morrigan.” She smiles, briefly, and Lux can’t help return it for a moment. The woman continues, “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?”

            “’Here no longer’? You stole them, didn’t you?” Alistair puffs up his chest. “You’re some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!” His insults could use some work.

            “How eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?” Morrigan crosses her arms, looking down on him with disdain.

            Alistair mutters back, “Quite easily, it seems.” He then gathers himself, straightening his shoulders. “Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

            “I will not.” Lux’s shoulders tense. They do not want a confrontation with this strange woman, not if she truly is a Witch of the Wilds. They have heard stories about one known as _Asha’bellanar_ in their clan, and those stories do not paint her as forgiving. “For ‘twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

            Alistairs huffs, and they put a hand on his arm gently. “Then who removed them?”

            “’Twas my mother, in fact.” Her mother?

            “Your mother?” Rose echoes their thoughts.

            “Yes, my mother.” Morrigan rolls her eyes. “Did you assume I spawned from a log?”

            “A thieving, weird-talking log, perhaps,” Alistair mutters under his breath.

            “Not all in the Wilds are monsters,” she continues. “Flowers grow, as well as toads.”

            Rose opens her mouth again, but Lux cuts her off. “Can you take us to your mother?”

            This seems to please Morrigan, who smiles. “There is a sensible request. I like you.”

            Alistair elbows them with a smirk. “I’d be careful if I were you. First it’s all ‘I like you’, then- zap! Frog time.”

            “She’ll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch.” Daveth is starting to look genuinely fearful.

            Ser Jory, however, surprisingly keeps his cool. “If the pot’s any warmer than the forest, it’d be a nice change.”

            Morrigan smirks, and turns, looking over her shoulder. “Follow me then, if it pleases you.”

 

They soon emerge into a small clearing, a hut standing not far off, and a small fire burning. An older woman looks up from something she was inspecting, walking their way.

            “Greetings, Mother,” Morrigan starts, “I bring before you six Grey Wardens, who-”

            “I see them, girl,” the woman cuts her off. Each of them are scrutinised by her strangely piercing eyes. “Hmm, yes. Much as I expected.”

            “Are we to believe you’ve been expecting us?” Alistair’s voice is incredulous, and he looks back at the rest of the group with a confused, but weary face.

            “You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight, or open one’s arms wide… either way, one’s a fool.”

            Lux doesn’t like the sound of this woman. She sounds intelligent, cunning. There is an undercurrent to her voice that they can’t quite identify yet, but it rubs them the wrong way.

            “She’s a witch, I tell you!” Daveth yells out from the back of the group. “We shouldn’t be talking to her!” They look back at him and glare. Fortunately, Ser Jory puts a hand on the man’s shoulder.

            “Quiet, Daveth,” he hisses. “If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

            “There is a smart lad.” The woman smiles. “Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will. And what of you?” She looks at Tori, who is towards the front of the group. “Does your elven mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?” The elf narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

            “I’m not sure what to believe.”

            “A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware… or is it oblivious? I can never remember.” The woman laughs, head thrown back. “So much about you is uncertain… and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!”

            “So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Alistair elbows Lux again, who shakes their head at him. Best be cautious, even if the woman seems a little loopy. That can be dangerous in its own respect.

            “Witch of the Wilds, hm? Morrigan must have told you that.” Her eyes twinkle as she looks over at her daughter. “She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moon.”

            Morrigan looks… embarrassed, is a good word to describe it. She rubs her forehead and shakes her head. “They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother.”

            “True, they came for their treaties yes?” The woman turns around and bends down before turning back with a scroll case in hand. “And before you begin barking,” she continues, looking at Alistair, “your precious deal wore off long ago. I have protected these.”

            Alistair starts. “You- oh.” It looks like he was expecting a different answer. “You protected them?”

            “And why not?” She hands the scrolls to Tori. “Take them to your Grey Wardens, and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realise.”

            “What do you mean?” Rose asks, carefully.

            “Either the threat is more or they realise less,” is the answer. “Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realise nothing!” Again, she laughs, but this time Lux knows what to listen for. It is not a laugh of merriment, or jest. The more they listen to this woman, the more they start to believe this might very well be _Asha’bellanar_.

            “How do you know all this?” they ask.

            “Do I? Perhaps I am simply an old woman with a penchant for mouldy parchments.”

            Lux squints in disbelief, but decides not to press the case. “Thank you for returning them.”

            This earns them an odd look and a faint smile. “Such manners! Always in the place where you least expect them. Like stockings!” She shakes her head, then, and they sense the conversation is over. “Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for!”

            “Time for you to go then,” Morrigan says, giving them a brief, irritated look.

            This earns her a scoff from her mother. “Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests.”

            “Oh, very well.” Morrigan rolls her eyes impatiently and starts walking towards the group. “I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”

           


	6. The Duty

They are led out of the thick of the woods, towards the entrance. Morrigan leaves them before they enter, and a tension leaves the group when she does. They’ve been slow-moving, with Lux having to be mostly supported through the underbrush. Their energy has left them almost in its entirety.

            They still insist on being escorted to the kennels before they head to Duncan, giving the kennelmaster the flower they found. The man is full of praise for them, and they smile weakly.

            When they return to Duncan, Alistair is already filling him in, looking worried. Duncan is shaking his head, however. “Apostates or not, we have no business with the Chantry.” He then looks over at the group. “Ah, good, you have returned. Now, we can proceed with the Joining.” After a bit of questioning about the dangers they are in, they are taken to the old temple.

            While they wait for sunset, the nerves within the group rise visibly. Lux is seated on a stool, twisting a piece of twine around their fingers. Rose is staring off into space next to them, lips moving without sound. Suddenly, she turns to Lux.

            “Are you nervous?”

            They look up to find Rose wringing her hands, and look back down at their own. “I’m dying,” they answer, making her wince.

            “I suppose that makes sense. You don’t really have a choice, do you?”

            “Do you?” they counter sharply.

            Rose swallows and runs a hand through her hair. The trek through the forest has not improved its conditions. It frizzes, and there is most certainly at least one leaf still stuck in it. “No, I guess not. Do you know what happened back at the Tower?”

            “I only caught the tail end of it,” they admit. “The Knight-Commander didn’t sound too happy.”

            Rose laughs at that. “Greagoir never does.” Then, her smile drops, and she goes back to tearing at a piece of loose skin on her fingers. “I had a friend, in the Tower. His name was Jowan.” She grimaces. “We got along pretty well. Both loners, both liked to read a lot. But after my Harrowing, he got… well, he got worried. Do you know what happens to apprentices that don’t go through the Harrowing?”

            “I barely know anything about the Harrowing, because _someone_ won’t tell me.”

            “Touché.” She smiles. “Only apprentices that are deemed ‘safe’ are allowed to go through the Harrowing, to become full-fledged mages of the Circle. The others…” She stares off again, mouth drawing into a tight line. “I’m sure you’ve seen them. There’s one in this very camp. The quiet, creepy mages.”

            “They do that to you?” Lux knows what she’s talking about. They saw a couple of them in the Tower during their short stay. Quiet, pleasant, but chilly and distant. Like their soul was sucked out of them.

            “Tranquil, is what they’re called. If you’re deemed too dangerous, too much of a risk to be promoted to full-fledged mage… they cut you off from the Fade itself.”

            Their lips feel numb as they speak. “And your friend was made Tranquil?” They can’t even begin to imagine what that would feel like. Cutting one off from the Fade like that… It’s unthinkable.

            “He was in danger of. At least, that’s what he said. I don’t know…” She pauses, licks her lips. “Well, I believe him.”

            “That’s horrible. So you helped him?”

            Rose nods. “Tried to, at least. Me and his girlfriend, a Chantry priest. We snuck down into the basement, destroyed his phylactery.” At Lux’s questioning look, she explains, “It’s a method the Templars employ to keep track of their mages. It’s some of our blood, that they take to make sure they can track us down if we escape.”

            “So, basically blood magic,” Lux surmises with a sneer.

            “Don’t say that to a Templar.” Rose laughs, and they smile, motioning for her to continue. “They caught us just as we got out of the basement. Jowan… he used blood magic. He escaped. And I took all of the blame. If it wasn’t for Duncan, my situation would’ve been far more dire.”

            Lux lets out a low whistle, shaking their head. “Shit, Amell. That’s rough. So he’s out in the wind now?”

            “I’d think so. Doubt I’ll ever come across him again.”

 

Ser Jory is pacing, muttering.

            “The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it.”

            “Are you blubbering again?” Daveth rolls his eyes.

            “Why all these damn tests?” the knight asks. “Have I not earned my place?”

            “Maybe it’s tradition.” Daveth smirks at him. “Maybe they’re just trying to annoy you.”

            “Calm down,” Tori interjects. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

            “I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me...” He sighs. “It just doesn’t seem fair.

            “Would you have come if they’d warned you?” Daveth asks. “Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?”

            Ser Jory whips around. “Including sacrificing us?”

            “I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it’d end the Blight.”

            “You make a good point,” Lux says, quietly.

            “You saw those darkspawn, ser knight. Wouldn’t you die to protect your pretty wife from them?” Daveth claps a hand on the man’s shoulder.

            “I…” Ser Jory still does not look convinced, but Daveth cuts him off.

            “Maybe you’ll die. Maybe we’ll all die. If nobody stops the darkspawn, we’ll die for sure.”

            As Daveth walks off to go talk to Tori, the knight shakes his head. “I’ve just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade.”

 

By dusk, Duncan stands before them, in front of a table holding a silver chalice and a box of supplies. “At last we come to the Joining,” he speaks, his voice levelled and radiating calm. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was then that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

            Ser Jory pales considerably. “We’re going to drink the blood of those… those creatures?”

            “As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you,” Duncan answers. “This is the source of our power and our victory.”

            Alistair, standing beside him, nods with a reassuring smile. “Those who survive the Joining become immune to the Taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon.”

            Tori is quick to jump on him. “Those who _survive_?”

            “Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay.” Duncan’s face is solemn.

            “How does it work, though?” Rose questions, brow furrowing. “Don’t people just get sick and die when they are exposed to darkspawn blood? Like Lux?”

            Duncan glances at Lux, then back at her. “There is more to it than simply the blood. If you are truly curious, you will be able to learn the ritual yourself later.” Rose seems appeased by this, nodding, and he continues to talk. “We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?” He steps back as he begins to fill the chalice with black liquid, and Alistair clears his throat.

            “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows, where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you.”

            Duncan steps back towards them, holding out the chalice. “Daveth, step forward.”

            Daveth glances around nervously, then steps forwards, taking the chalice in his hands. He brings it to his mouth, drinking. Before long, his eyes roll back and he nearly drops the chalice, but Duncan manages to catch it before the man is brought to his knees, hands flying to his throat. Bloody froth pours from his lips as he can do nothing except gurgle helplessly. Then, mercifully, he falls still, all signs of life gone from his body.

            Lux looks at the rest of their companions. Rose is white as a sheet, fists trembling. Tori looks highly uncomfortable, like she might throw up at any second. Ser Jory is entirely wide-eyed.

            “Maker’s breath!” he curses.

            “I am sorry, Daveth.” Duncan looks genuinely pained as he turns back to fill the chalice up once more. “Step forward, Jory.”

            Ser Jory does not. Instead, he stumbles back, panic clear in his face. “But… I have a wife. A child! Had I known…”

            “There is no turning back.” Duncan’s voice is once again levelled. He sets down the chalice as Ser Jory pulls his sword.

            “No! You ask too much!” he protests. “There is no glory in this.” Duncan pulls his own sword, sighing regretfully. There is a short clash of swords, but the knight is easily overpowered, the blade sliding in between his ribs. He gurgles, once, then slumps down to the ground, not breathing.

            Duncan turns towards the rest, face grim, but not wavering. “I am sorry. But the Joining is not yet complete.” He turns towards the remainder of the group, grabbing the chalice once again. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good. Lux, step forwards.”

            They do, taking the chalice from Duncan. The previous events have not filled them with confidence, but they are assured by the thought that, if they die now, at least it will happen quickly. They drink.

The liquid is thick, sliding down their throat like slime, accompanied by the worst flavour they’ve ever tasted. All thoughts about the taste fade, however, when they feel a pit of cold expanding in their abdomen, and then their entire body starts to shiver. Their vision blacks out as a wave of excruciating pain hits them, and they scream, soundlessly, up at the sky before collapsing onto the ground.

            The last thing they hear before they fade from consciousness, is a very faint “From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.”


	7. Ascend

Lux comes back to consciousness to faint voices above them, muddled, like they were hearing it through water.

            “So, when are we getting that shiny new armour?” the tell-tale voice of Tori asks.

            Duncan’s voice is a low rumble. “After the battle, we’ll see what we can do. I’m afraid our supplies are a bit low right now. But if you are in need of better protection, you are free to visit the Quartermaster. I understand you might be a little low on funds, but…”

            “Might as well put her in one of those metal suits of armour,” Lux mutters, sitting up with their head in their hand. “She is going to need it, the way she keeps running straight into the thick of the battle.”

            “Look who’s awake!” Tori’s voice sounds uncharacteristically relieved. “Looking a lot better there, Dalish.”

            “I feel better.” They touch their face, mapping where they knew the skin was blackened and porous. There is still some bumpiness, some roughness to the texture, but they don’t feel the veins bulging under their fingertips.

            “Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Lux Mahariel.” Duncan extends a hand to them, and they take it, getting back on their feet. They look down to see Rose still on the ground, and for a moment their breath catches, but then they notice her breathing. Duncan notices their alarm, and puts his hand on their shoulder. “She will be alright.”

            As he says that, she stirs, and then opens her eyes with a groan. “I feel like I just woke up from a lyrium hangover.”

            Tori laughs and goes to help her up as well. “You weakling mages just can’t handle your darkspawn blood.”

            “Two more deaths,” Alistair mumbles, shaking his head. “In my Joining we had only one, but it was awful.” He shudders.

            “How are you feeling now?” Duncan asks Lux, looking over them with concern.

            “I feel much better, thank you,” they answer softly, still touching their face absentmindedly. They move their hands up to run through their thinning hair, wincing when they pull out a couple strands.

            “It will grow back,” he reassures them. They nod, and look back over at the rest. Alistair is patting Rose’s shoulder.

            “Did you have dreams?” he asks, making a face. “I had terrible dreams after my Joining.”

            “Such dreams will come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come.” Duncan says.

            “Before I forget,” Alistair pipes up, digging into his bag. “There is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. To remind us… of those who didn’t make it this far.” He hands a pendant on a chain to each of the three new Wardens, who put them around their necks in silence.

            “I will give you a moment,” Duncan says gently. “When you are ready, I would like for you to accompany me to a meeting with the king. It is to the west, down the stairs.” They nod, and he walks away, leaving them alone with Alistair. Lux notes that the bodies of Daveth and Ser Jory have been cleaned up – they must have been out for some time.

            “So, when are we gonna be able to sense the darkspawn?” Tori asks, fiddling with her pendant.

            Alistair shrugs. “It depends per Warden. The range as well; I can’t sense any here, except for Duncan’s presence. I’m pretty sure he can sense all other Wardens in this camp.”

            “We can sense other Wardens, too?” Rose looks at him with interest. “Is that what I’ve been feeling around you?”

            “Or maybe you’re just in love,” Tori remarks with a grin. Rose swats her on the upper arm.

            “We all carry the taint now. We can sense them, and they can sense us, to an extent.”

            “I can sense them,” Lux speaks up, frowning. It’s very faint, but they feel a slowly moving mass outside of the camp’s borders, leaving a foul taste in their mouth.

            “The horde? You can sense it?” Alistair looks down on them now, fascination in his eyes. They shrug as an answer, squinting into the distance.

            “It is faint, but yes, I can. It does not feel nice.”

            “Of course the Dalish is special.” Tori crosses her arms, rolling her eyes.

            Rose looks as fascinated as Alistair. “Is it because you were already tainted to begin with? Does that have an effect on your capabilities?”

            “I suppose?” They look up at the senior Warden, questionably. He shakes his head and shrugs.

            “I don’t know. Could be? That’s pretty neat, though.” He clears his throat. “In any case, we should probably head towards the west. Don’t want to leave the king waiting.”

 

When they arrive, King Cailan and a dark-haired human man are in a heated discussion, Duncan standing by quietly.

            “Loghain, my decision is final,” Cailan says, identifying the other man. “I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.”

            “You risk too much Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.” Loghain is glaring at the young king with exasperation. He looks like an experienced soldier, at least, definitely much older than Cailan. There are lines in his face that are especially pronounced now.

            Cailan shakes his head, stubborn like a child. “If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all.”

            Loghain whips his head around, upper lip in a near-snarl. “I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!”

            “It’s not a ‘fool notion’,” Cailan replies, standing up a bit straighter. “Our arguments with the Orlesians are in the past. And you will remember who is king.” His voice takes on a tad more authority, though it retains a whiny tone. He is obviously used to getting his way.

            “How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!” Loghain scoffs and folds his arms.

            In the back, Tori scoffs too, mirroring his movements. Lux looks back at her, knowing exactly what she’s thinking. They went from being enslaved, to enslaving others. Progress.

            “Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” Cailan looks pleased with himself, like he’s won this argument. He turns to Duncan. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

            “They are, your majesty.” Duncan sweeps his arm back to indicate the three new Wardens standing behind them.

            “Ah, yes! I understand congratulations are in order.” He smiles brilliantly at them.

            “Thank you, your majesty,” Rose replies with a tone of reverence.

            “Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honoured to join their ranks.”

            Loghain lets out a deep sigh. He almost reminds Lux of their clan elder at times. “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality.”

            “Fine.” Cailan huffs. “Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then…?”

            Loghain gestures at the map laying on the table. “You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my man to charge from cover.”

            “To flank the darkspawn, I remember,” Cailan finishes. “This is the Tower of Ishal, in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?”

            “I have a few men stationed there. It’s not a dangerous task, but it is vital.”

            “Then we should send our best.” Cailan smiles back at the Wardens. “Send Alistair and the new Grey Wardens.”

            “What?” Tori steps forwards, looking confused. “To no one’s offense, your majesty, but do you think this wise? We Grey Wardens are meant to fight the darkspawn.”

            Lux shares a glance with Rose, and then with Duncan. This is weird, but there seems to be intent behind Cailan’s words. Perhaps it’s best to let this happen.

            “You rely on these Grey Wardens too much,” Loghain grouses. “Is that truly wise?”

            “Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they’re from.”

            Duncan pulls Tori back slightly by her shoulder, looking at Cailan. “Your majesty, you should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing.”

            Loghain shakes his head. “There’s been no sight of any dragons in the Wilds.”

            “Isn’t that what your men are here for, Duncan?”

            “I…” Duncan sighs softly, bowing his head. “Yes, your majesty.”

            A bit more squabbling rises up, discussing the merits of the plan, before Loghain’s voice rises up again. “Enough! This plan will suffice. The Wardens will light the beacon.”

            “Thank you, Loghain.” Cailan puts on a wide smile. “I cannot wait for that glorious moment. The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!”

            “Yes, Cailan.” Loghain bends over the map again, an odd look on his face. “A glorious moment for us all.”

 

The moments before the battle are tense. The soldiers have gathered into position, rows and rows of them, all slowly shifting and shuffling with nerves. The four Wardens overlook them, as Duncan briefs them on their mission.

            “You will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit at our signal,” he says, pacing back and forth.

            Alistair frowns. “What? I won’t be in the battle?”

            “This is by the king’s personal request, Alistair.” He lays a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, looking near fatherly. “If the beacon is not lit, Loghain’s men will not know when to charge.”

            “So he needs four Grey Wardens holding up the torch. Just in case, right?” Alistair does not look convinced, and neither does Tori.

            “I agree. We should be there, fighting with them. You need all the help you can get.”

            “That’s not your choice.” Duncan’s voice remains firm, unwavering. “If King Cailan wishes the Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn.” He sighs, shoulders dropping. “Exciting or no.”

            “I get it, I get it,” Alistair murmurs. “Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line, darkspawn or no.”

            Rose laughs, a hand covering her mouth. “I think I’d like to see that.”

            Alistair grins back at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress.”

            “I don’t know,” Lux remarks, joining in the humour. “Could be a nice distraction.”

            “Me shimmying down the darkspawn line? Sure, we could kill them while they roll around laughing.”

            Duncan is obviously trying his best to hide a smile as he explains where the Tower is located.

            “Sounds easy enough,” Tori remarks. “You’ll be joining the King’s armies then?”

            He nods. “So I should be going. From here, you are on your own. Remember, you are Grey Wardens.” He looks over all of them. “I expect you to be worthy of that title.”

            “Duncan…” Alistair hesitates, then nods. “May the Maker watch over you.”

            “And may the Creators guide your step,” Lux adds softly.

            “May they watch over us all,” Duncan replies, before walking off.

 

The walk to the Tower is quiet, apart from the occasional yelp as a burning ball of earth streaks a little too close for comfort. When they are about to head up the steps, however, Lux motions for the rest to stop, licking their lips nervously.

            “Darkspawn. A lot of them,” they say in a low voice. The presence is a burbling mass within their chest, rising up to their throat. They’ve been feeling it pretty much constantly now, so the only reason they notice it now is because it suddenly intensifies dramatically.

            “Maybe sending four of us was not such a bad idea after all,” Tori remarks, drawing her swords with a smirk. Looks like they’ll have some excitement after all.

            They help a couple guards in their fights with the darkspawn, Alistair and Tori charging ahead while Lux and Rose stay in the back, flinging spells and aiding their allies. At some point a hurlock’s head violently explodes, and they turn slowly towards the other mage, raising their eyebrows. Rose simply smiles and shrugs.

            They reach the Tower in good time, one guard and a Circle mage trailing behind. Then Lux’s stomach lurches and they grit their teeth.

            “ _Fenedhis_ ,” they spit, pausing in their step. Alistair turns around, looking worried, but they shake their head. “A lot of them, in the Tower ahead. Why have they broken off from the horde?”

            “I think the question is not why, but how,” Rose mutters grimly.

             “We need to light the beacon.” Tori replies, shifting from foot to foot.  “That’s why we’re here.”

            “For once, the flat-ear is correct. Let us go.”

 

After Tori dismantles a trap and they swiftly do away with the first ambush of ‘spawn, they regroup in the middle of the room.

            “Four groups above us. And something… big.”

            “Dibs,” the city elf calls.

            “Big?” Rose questions. They shake their head regretfully.

            “Not something I have sensed before. _Ir abelas_. I will know next time.”

 

When they come to the second floor, Rose holds the group back. She motions Tori forwards, pointing discreetly at a lever on the floor. Tori smirks, nods, and sneaks closer. The darkspawn begin to stir, alerted by her presence. When they seem about to strike, she leaps, up onto the cages and over, pulling the lever to let the hounds free.

            The rest of their group spill in, finishing off what the mabari have not yet torn to shreds. It’s easy work to lead them along, dispatching the stragglers hiding in the other rooms as well. When they come to the staircase, Lux kneels down, scratching one of them between the ears. “Guard the entrance for us, alright? Be our last line of defence.” It barks, and they smile before getting up and following the group upstairs.

 

At last they reach the final floor, and immediately, it becomes very clear what they were sensing before. An ogre stands in the corner, ripping into a torso. They stand paralysed for just a moment, before it senses them and charges.

            “Immobilise it, or at the very least slow it down!” Lux calls out, falling back on hunting tactics when a group encountered a large prey. “Do not let it come close, come up from behind. And don’t let it hit you!”

            Easier said than done, of course, but they follow their commands for the most part. Rose and the Circle mage take turns slowing or freezing its movements, while Lux sends fire and lightning at its horned head.

            A large hit sends Alistair sprawling, his chestplate slightly dented, but it provides an opening for Tori to jump, digging her blades into its back. With one large swing she somersaults over its massive shoulder, one sword piercing its chest, the other providing a handhold for her to hold on to. The giant of a darkspawn roars, but the elf is persistent, and ultimately it topples backwards, crashing down onto the floor.

            “Rose, can you help Alistair?” Lux calls, fumbling to open a bottle of lyrium. “There is more coming… We need to light the fire! Tori!”

            While Rose helps Alistair up, checking over his injuries, and Tori rushes over to light the beacon, Lux turns around, towards the entrance. A wave of nausea hits them at the massive presence of darkspawn heading in their direction, however, and they grip the doorframe with all they have.

            The world seems to slow down as they burst through the door. Rose takes three arrows before she collapses. Alistair and Tori hold their own for a good while, trying to push back against the tide of monsters spilling through the entrance, but they, too, fall. They are on Lux, then, who feels a blade sink into their shoulder, the blunt head of a maul hitting their chest, claws tearing at their flesh. They can feel their consciousness leaving them slowly.

 

And then, inexplicably, the sound of wings.


	8. Bonds

For the second time in less than a day, Lux wakes up feeling very strange. They sit up slowly, hissing when it pulls at a healing wound. “What…”

            “Ah, your eyes finally open.” They sit up and come to face Morrigan, who stands near the entrance of the wooden hut they have woken up in. “Mother shall be pleased.”

            “What happened… the darkspawn?”

            “You were injured, and Mother rescued you.” Morrigan approaches the bed slowly, like one would with a wounded animal. “Do you not remember?”

            “I remember pain. I remember…” They jerk up. “Rose? Alistair, Tori, are they…”

            “Your friends are outside, by the fire.”

            “And the battle…”

            “The man who was supposed to answer your call quit the field. The darkspawn won the battle.”

            Lux takes some time to take in this information. King Cailan. Duncan.

            “They are dead,” they whisper, not phrasing it as a question.

            “Some of your friends are not taking it well,” Morrigan replies. “Mother asked to see you when you awoke. Can you stand?”

            “I think so.” Apart from the pain in their side, they feel alright, so they lift their legs over the edge of the bed, using the bedpost as a support to get on their feet. Their head feels light, and they stumble, but keep their balance.

            Duncan. King Cailan. The guard and the mage who had accompanied them. The mabari. All dead? And Loghain and his army, safely gone. Because they thought it was a lost fight? Or for more nefarious purposes?

            But there’s no use debating this now. What matters is, when they step outside, they are greeted by the sight of their fellow Wardens, sitting around the fire. All of them look a bit worse for wear, but they’re alive. Rose smiles, relief painted on her face. Alistair jerks upright, eyes shining. Tori grins at them.

            “Look at that, Dalish survived!” she calls, without much venom behind it.

            They respond with a faint smile, “Glad to see you did not get skewered on some horns, flat-ear.”

            “Well, there’s a way to go.”

            “See? Here is your last Warden,” the voice of the forest witch says, coming up behind Alistair. “You worry too much, young man.”

            “You’re alive! I thought for sure you’d be dead.”

            “I am fine, Alistair. Thank you for your concern. Are you well?” They can see his armour will be a lost cause soon, but otherwise, he looks relatively alright.

            “I’m fine. We’d all be dead if it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother rescuing us from that Tower.”

            “Do not talk about me as if I’m not there, lad.”

            Alistair jumps, then rubs the back of his head. “I didn’t mean…” He turns his head towards her. “But what do we call you? You never told us your name.”

            “Names are pretty, but useless,” she replies. “The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose that will do.”

            “The Flemeth from the legends? Daveth was right- you’re a Witch of the Wilds, aren’t you?” Alistair’s voice has a tremble to it.

            “And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you all well, has it not?”

            Lux speaks up, cautious. “ _Asha’bellanar?_ We should thank you.” They give the woman a quick, but respectful bow.

            “I suppose you should, if you know what is good for you!” Flemeth laughs and crosses her arms.

            “We can’t be safe here for too long,” Rose murmurs. “The darkspawn…”

            “The largest part of the horde has moved on. We are safe enough for now. Old Flemeth knows a thing or two about hiding.” She smiles. “The longer you are here, the less that is true, however. These things will notice you eventually.”

            “What would Teyrn Loghain gain by betraying the king?” Tori questions, frowning.

            “The throne?” Alistair offers. “He’s the queen’s father. Still, can’t see how he’ll get away with murder.”

            Flemeth scoffs. “You speak as if he would be the first king to gain his throne that way. Grow up, boy!”

            Alistair scrambles upright, facing her angrily. “If Arl Eamon knew what he did, he would never stand for it! The Landsmeet would never stand for it! There would be civil war!”

            “The Arl of Redcliffe?” Tori questions.

            Lux, tiring of human politics, steps up. “What about the treaties? The Dalish, they’d be sworn…”

            “Of course!” Alistair’s eyes light up. The Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They’re obligated to help us during the Blight!”

            “I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and what else… this sounds like an army,” Flemeth notes. Tori stands up, crossing her arms.

            “And why not? Isn’t that what Grey Wardens do?”

            Rose gets up as well, putting a hand on her shoulder with a smile. Flemeth nods, a smile of her own creeping onto her face.

            “Very well then. Before you go, I have one last thing to offer you.”

 

Despite protests from both Alistair and Tori, not to mention the woman herself, Morrigan agrees to join their party in search of something to stop the Blight. They head out, on their way to a village a bit up north, that she suggests as a first destination. Alistair and Tori both look highly uncomfortable, and the two take the lead, while the mages follow close behind.

            They need to call it a day after a few hours of travel, the sky turning dark. Lux scouts the surrounding, and when they report that there’s no threat nearby, they set up a camp, even risking a fire. They offer to take first watch, too, but Alistair shoots them down, saying that they need to heal.

            They do, however, insist on second watch. Tori joins them for it, and they both sit on opposite ends of the fire, quiet for a while. Then the city elf speaks up.

            “You doing alright? I didn’t see you go down in that fight, but you looked to be in pretty bad shape when I woke up.”

            Lux looks up momentarily, then goes back to chopping up elfroot. “I feel fine now, thank you. Flemeth did good work patching us up.”

            “Yeah, she saved us, she did. Still feel kinda freaked out she worked her magic on me while I was asleep, but… I can let this one slide.”

            “You do not like magic,” they state.

            “Never have. Don’t trust it.” There’s quiet, for a while, with only the sounds of nightlife audible. “Blades, you can trust.”

            “A blade can cut you if you are not careful. So can magic. It depends on how it is used.”

            “Yeah, and blades can’t get up and start dancing on their own. Magic is unpredictable, and it’s volatile. A blade can cut you, slice you open. Magic can make you lose control. I’d rather have a blade against my throat than a demon in my head, no offense.”

            “You think I would prefer the second?”

            “I think you’re all a bit crazy for even meddling with that shit. Pick up a crossbow.”

            There’s a dull thud as Lux throws their hunting knife to the ground, struggling to keep their voice even. “You think I chose this life? You think I chose to be sent away from my parents, be forced to live in another clan because mine had its fill of mages?”

            “Don’t think so. Just think you’re not to be trusted. You, Rose, or Morrigan. That’s why Alistair and I are here, to keep an eye on you.” Tori gets up, dusting off her pants. “I’ll wake up the third watch. Goodnight, Dalish.”

 

With all of them still healing, it takes them a bit longer than it would, normally, to travel, but after four days of travel, they reach the outskirts of the town. From a distance it looks small, and up close, it looks tiny, made worse by the densely packed perimeter.

            “Refuges,” Rose murmurs. “Fleeing the Blight.”

            “Probably better off somewhere else. This is not far from the Wilds, the darkspawn will be here soon.” Lux slings their pack over their other shoulder. Alistair had offered to carry it for them, as their shoulder was still recovering, but they had been insistent on carrying it themselves. He’s a sweet guy, but they’ve always preferred having their things close to them.

            As they cross over to the entrance of the village, they’re halted in their tracks by some shady-looking men with carts, blocking the road ahead. The clear leader of the group perks up when he sees them, straightening with a wide grin. “Wake up gentlemen!” he calls. “More travellers to attend to.” He cocks his head, looking over the group. “Led by an elf, oddly enough.” Lux is not sure whether he means them, or Tori, who crosses her arms and glares at them.

            Another man lets his eyes slide over the group, then turns to his boss nervously. “Er… They don’t look much like them others, you know. Uh… Maybe we should just let these pass…”

            “Nonsense!” the first man cuts him off. “Greetings, travellers!”

            “Highwaymen,” Alistair notes, getting into a defensive stance behind them. “Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose.”

            “They are fools to get in our way. I say we teach them a lesson.” Morrigan grips her staff tighter.

            “Now, is that any way to greet someone?” The leader looks at them in mocked offense. He clicks his tongue dismissively. “A simple ten silvers, and you’re free to move on.”

            “Listen to your friend,” Tori says, taking a step forwards. “We are not refugees.”

            The nervous man mutters something, but the leader cuts him off again. “The toll applies to everyone, Hanric. That’s why it’s a toll, and not, say, a refugee tax.”

            “Oh, right.” The man brightens up. “Even if you’re no refugee, you still gotta pay.”

            Lux, disgusted by this whole circumstance, glares directly up at the leader. “Forget it. We are not paying.”

            When the bandit leader charges at them with his sword, they deflect him, twisting around him to hit him in the back of his knees with their staff. The rest of the bandits spring to action, then, and they take advantage of the commotion to run towards the back of the group, freezing anyone who comes close in place. It’s hardly a tasking battle, and soon the leader drops his sword, putting his hands in the air.

            “Alright, alright, we surrender! We- we’re just trying to get by, before the darkspawn get us all.”

            Tori kicks the sword away, putting her own dagger to his neck. “You picked the wrong target,” she says, voice dangerously low. “Hand over everything you’ve stolen.”

            The leader does as she says, handing out a hefty coin pouch, which Rose takes with a smile. “And now, we turn you in to the authorities,” she says cheerily.

            This does not go over well, and the man tries once again to fight back, but in the time it takes for him to locate his sword, Alistair has run him through with it, a grimace on his face. They dispatch of the other bandits without much trouble, and Lux gives Alistair a hand with clearing out the bodies while Tori goes for the crates and chests in the back. All in all, they get a good haul of coin, which Rose decides to keep on her for now (despite a certain city elf muttering that she’s the one who fairly stole it). They also manage to equip the ones who need it with some better, not darkspawn-ruined armour, and Tori slides three more daggers into her belt with a smirk.

 

With that, they finally manage to properly enter Lothering. They halt at the top of the stairs, looking over the town quietly for a moment.

            “Ahh, Lothering. Pretty as a painting,” Alistair says with a faint smile.

            Morrigan scoffs. “Finally decided to rejoin us then, have you? Decided falling on your blade in grief would be too much trouble?”

            “Is my being upset so hard to understand?” the man counters, crossing his arms. “Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?”

            “Before, or after I stopped laughing?”

            Alistair grimaces. “Right. Very creepy. Forget I asked.”

            “Leave him alone, Morrigan,” Tori says, stepping in between the two of them.

            “But how can I?” The witch smirks. “He is right there, eyes wide like those of a brainless calf…”

            “Oh, I get it-”

            “Cut it out, both of you,” Lux speaks up, shooting a look at both women.

            Alistair clears his throat. “Anyway… I thought we should talk about where we intend to go to, first.”

            “What are our options?” Rose questions. “We have the treaties, yes? Those would probably be the best idea…”

            “I need to go to my clan.” Lux bites her lower lip. “They… they need me. And we need them, right?”

            “The Dalish are obligated to help us during a Blight, yes. So are the mages of the Circle, and the dwarves in Orzammar. I also still think asking Arl Eamon for assistance would not be the worst idea.”

            “Anyone got a map?” Alistair nods and hands it to Tori, who unrolls it. “This is Lothering. From here, we’re close to Redcliffe, right?”

            “The Circle, too,” Rose adds.

            “My clan-”

            “So we could pass by the Circle on the way to Eamon, petition him for help, and then…”

            “Orzammar is rather far away, isn’t it? Maybe it would be wise to do that sooner rather than later…”

            “Is there any way to contact the rest of the Wardens?”

            Short of leaving Ferelden to seek them out, the only place to send word to would be Weisshaupt Fortress, and that’s thousands of miles away-”

            “My clan is in danger!” The rest of the group turns to look at Lux, who stands slightly away from them, fists balled. “I do not _care_ about your _shemlen_ Arl, or some locked up mages, my clan _needs_ me, we _need_ to go there!”

            Rose is the first to speak up, voice wavering. “Lux, what happened to your clan?” she asks carefully. “What happened to you? Why did Duncan recruit you?”

            They take a deep, slow breath, forcing their muscles to relax. “It is not… it’s not important. The only thing you need to know, is that they are in danger, and we need to help them, before there is no clan to help _us_ anymore.”

            “So we’re just gonna drop everything and run straight into the forest, huh?” Tori scoffs and rolls her eyes.

            “Well,” Alistair starts, voice gentle, “I’ll follow wherever you guys go.”

            “No surprises there,” Morrigan remarks with a sneer. “Still, I do not see why we cannot make a small detour. We are very close to the Circle and to Redcliffe, no? Why do we not head in that direction first, and go to the Dalish from there?”

            Lux sighs and nods, eyes closed. “I suppose it is on the way. Very well.”

            “So, the Circle, then Arl Eamon, then the Dalish?” Rose summarises.

            “And then Orzammar,” Tori agrees with a nod. “Now, let’s find an inn, I’m _starving_.”


	9. Downtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyy apologies for the lateness! for those who follow me on tumblr, i promised this chapter would be up saturday, and then i entirely forgot. so, seeing as its tuesday now, im uploading two chapters! again, sorry this comes so late!!

Lothering is filled to the brim with refugees. As they pass by, beggars call at them, asking for a coin, a silver, some food. They stick together as a group, their mismatched band of tentative allies.

            An inn is not hard to find, but what awaits them inside is hardly the warmth of a fire and a good round of drinks they had hoped for. A couple of armoured men turn around at their entrance, like dogs sniffing out a scent, and the one at the front grins.

            “Well, look what we have here, men. I think we’ve just been blessed.”

            “Loghain’s men,” Alistair says in a low voice. “This can’t be good.”

            “Didn’t we spend all morning askin’ about some brats by this very description?” Another soldier waves a hand at the front of their group, where Tori, Lux and Rose stand. “And everyone said they hadn’t seen ‘em?”

            “Seems like we’ve been lied to,” the commander notes.

            There is a tenseness to all of their stances, but before anyone can move, a woman with chin-length, red hair and light coloured robes steps out of the crowd, a hand up. “Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble,” she says with a foreign accent. Lux believes it to be Orlesian, though the woman does not look like any Orlesian they’ve ever seen. “These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”

            “They’re more than that,” the commander replies. “Now stay out of the way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you get the same as them.”

            Tori puts a hand on one of her swords. “We don’t need your help miss, stand back.”

            “You don’t need my protection,” the woman says. “But these men will blindly follow their master’s commands even unto death.”

            “I am not the blind one! I served at Ostagar, where the teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens treachery! I serve him gladly!” The commander scoffs. “Enough talk. Take the Wardens into custody. Kill the sister and anyone else that gets in your way.”

            Barely a second passes before Tori has her swords crossed at the man’s throat, two of the men at his sides freezing in place, first figuratively, then literally as frost starts to cover their bodies. The commander twitches, then slumps his shoulders. “Alright, alright, you’ve won, we surrender!”

            The robed woman smiles. “Good. They’ve learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now.”

            Tori sneers, pulling her swords away. “The Grey Wardens didn’t betray King Cailan. Loghain did.”

            “I was there! The teyrn pulled us out of a trap!”

            “The teyrn left the king to die!” Hatred fills Tori’s voice, her fists clenched until her knuckles turn white.

            “The Wardens led the king to his death! The teyrn could do nothing!”

            “Tori, stand down,” Lux mutters, putting a hand on her upper arm. They look at the commander, who turns his fearful gaze on them. “Take a message to Loghain.”

            “W-what do you want to tell him?”

            “The Grey Wardens know what really happened.”

            “I’ll tell him. Right now. Thank you!” Tori shoots them an incredulous look as they sheath their swords again, and the soldiers stumble out of the tavern.

            “What was that about?” she asks, turning to her fellow elf.

            “As much as I would have loved to kill the treacherous _shemlen_ , our fight is not with them. It is with Loghain.”

            Rose nods at their side. “Now he’ll know that what he’s done will not go unnoticed. That there’s people out there that know the truth. That’ll make him ponder, for sure.”

            “I am glad you found it within your heart to offer these men mercy,” the robed woman offers, wearing a bright smile. “Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters here at the Chantry in Lothering. Or, I was.”

            “What does that mean?” Tori asks, turning her irritation on her.

            “I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation, but I am no priest, not even an initiate.”

            “A pleasure, Leliana,” Rose replies. “My name is Rose Amell, and my two charming companions are Tori Tabris and Lux Mahariel.”

            “They said you were Grey Wardens. I’m surprised you two are elves, but elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no?” Leliana is still smiling gently, even as both elven Wardens raise their eyebrows, and then exchange a glance. “I know after what happened, you’ll need help. Which is why I’m coming along.”

            “I believe you’re mistaken, Sister,” Tori says, crossing her arms defiantly.

            “Ah, I thought you might say that, but see, the Maker wants me to join you.”

            “I believe this is where I back away slowly,” Tori replies, frowning.

            Leliana sighs. “I know this sounds… absolutely insane. But it’s true!” She glances desperately at Rose and Lux. “I had a dream… a vision!”

            “More crazy?” Alistair mutters. “I thought we were full up.”

            “Look at the people here. They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos...” She motions around the room. “Will spread. The Maker doesn’t want this. What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker’s work. Let me help!”

            “We need more than prayers, I’m afraid,” Tori says.

            “We should not turn away help when it is offered,” Lux counters, taking Tori’s arm and pulling her away a little. They lower their voice, “I do not believe in the Maker, and I do not believe in visions. But if she wishes to help combat the Blight, who are we to refuse?”

            “She’s a lay sister! She’s wearing Chantry robes, what good is she gonna be on the road?”

            “I was not always a Sister, you know,” Leliana cuts in, a faint smile on her face. “I promise you, you will not regret it.”

            “A round of drinks for six then?” Alistair cuts into their argument, a wide, forced smile on his face. The tension settles, for now, and they sit down with food and drinks not soon after.

            “Don’t think we should stay here for long,” Tori comments, looking around. “Place seems packed, and we’re a little too close to the ‘spawn for my liking.”

            “We can gather some supplies, some information, then be on our way. We can camp further ahead when night falls,” Rose suggests, and the rest agrees.

            “That sounds wise,” Morrigan says with a nod. “I wish to gather some herbs out in the fields. Perhaps Lux will join me?”

            Lux shrugs. “I can do that. We will need poultices, and perhaps I can mix up some poisons for your blades,” they offer, motioning towards Alistair and Tori.

            The latter grins. “Awesome. I saw a merchant up front, I can get us some sick gear. Rose, you got the money from the bandits, right?”

            She nods and sighs. “Suppose I will come with you then. Alistair, Leliana, will you be alright going around town and gathering some intel?”

            “We can do that. I suggest we go by the Chantry,” Leliana says. “There’s plenty of refugees and templars alike there, I’m certain we will be able to learn something.”

            “Meet back up at dusk?” Alistair suggests. They all nod in agreement. For a moment, there is silence as they all eat, before Rose starts questioning Leliana about her so-called ‘visions’, and the two women start discussing back and forth.

            As they bicker, Morrigan leans over to Lux and mutters, “Seems your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought.” They smile, and shake their head. They aren’t certain if Leliana is correct about these visions, but lying or not, she seems a capable woman.

 

They split up outside the tavern, and Lux follows Morrigan out of the village. As they cross the dirt road towards the fields behind it, they hear the soft thudding of footfalls coming their direction, and they shoot out a hand towards Morrigan to stop her, bracing themselves. That is when they see a mabari, ears back, running straight for them.

            And then they see what is chasing it. A handful of bandits come out of the corn fields, wielding crossbows and blades. Lux lets out a hissed curse and looks around before unleashing cold and electricity on them, not daring to use fire in the case this fields burns up around them. The mabari stands its ground in front of them, biting at any bandit who comes to close as the two mages pick off the archers.

            When the last of them falls, Lux crouches down, extending a hand to the mabari, who sniffs it, and then barks, happily.

            “It’s the mabari from the camp,” they breathe, recognising him. “Did you run here all the way from Ostagar?”

            Morrigan scrunches up her nose in displeasure. “And just as Alistair left us, another smelly mutt joins the party.”

            She finds herself a bit more pleased with the addition to their group, however, as they are accosted by wolves, and then spiders, and then more bandits. Morrigan stays at the back, firing off spell after spell, while Lux follows at the mabari’s heels, releasing blasts of electricity, and even the occasional hit with their staff if anything comes too close. Eventually the two deem their collection of elfroot and deathroot enough, and they return to the village, winded.

            They find Tori and Rose on the outskirts of camp, standing by a cage with a large man in it. Tori seems to be talking to him amicably, while Rose turns towards the two of them with a ‘help me’ expression planted across her face. She starts when she sees the mabari though, raising her eyebrows.

            “Picked up a stray?” she comments, making Tori turn as well. The elf also startles when she sees the dog, even taking a slight step back before regaining herself.

            “A fine replacement for Alistair, don’t you think?” Morrigan quips, smirking.

            Lux explains about the dog, who sits obediently at their heels, panting happily. He seems utterly attached to them already. They recall the conversation they had with the kennelmaster about imprinting, tucking that information to the back of their mind.

            “So, what are you calling it?” Rose questions.

            “Alistair two?” Tori offers, her grin a little more shaky now. She must not like dogs very much.

            “I was thinking Falon, actually,” Lux replies, scratching the dog between his ears. “It means ‘friend’ in Elven.”

            “And what does Lux mean?” the other elf asks, crossing her arms defensively. “Since you Dalish are all about your fancy language, surely names are no exception.”

            Lux smiles, briefly, and shrugs. “It does not mean anything, to my knowledge. I chose it myself.”

            Tori obviously wants to ask more, but at that moment Alistair and Leliana return, and the conversation reaches an end.

            “So, not much on our end, but we found a friend of that one dead Templar we found on the road. Returned his amulet to him.” Alistair shrugs.

            “He also mentioned that Arl Eamon has fallen ill,” Leliana adds.

            “Badly?” Rose questions.

            Alistair nods. “Must be, if they’re chasing after a myth. We’ll explain on the road, it’s a long story. Hey, is that a dog?”

 

While the rest of the group divides the purchases Rose and Tori made, the latter inches back to the cage with the man inside, and Lux joins her.

            “He’s a Qunari,” she explains. “Also, apparently he kind of killed some people, which is why they locked him in this cage.”

            “A lure for the darkspawn. That is awful.” They look at the man and bow their head. “Greetings, my name is Lux. What is yours?”

            “I am Sten of the Beresaad,” the broad man replies. “of the Qunari peoples. I suggest you leave me to my fate.”

            They hesitate, looking back at the rest, who hasn’t taken notice yet, then back at Sten. “We find ourselves in need of skilled help. We are Grey Wardens, and we combat the Blight. Would you be willing to help?”

            “What are you doing?” Tori hisses at their side, but Lux motions for her to hush.

            “This is surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens’ strength and skill... though I suppose not every legend is true.” His voice is dry, betraying no emotion, yet Lux finds themselves chuckling. They look at Tori.

            “The Grey Wardens are known to take in criminals, a fact which you should be very aware of.”

            “He’s a- whatever. He’s still in a cage.”

            “And I have seen you unlock every single chest we’ve come across.”

            Tori lets out a dramatic sigh, then kneels down and takes out her tools. With only a few seconds, there’s a _click_ and the door swings open. Sten steps out, looking only slightly confused.

            “And so it is done,” he states. “I will follow you into battle. In doing so shall I find my atonement.”

            “Glad to have you with us,” Lux replies with a smile. Then, they pull at Rose’s sleeve. “Hey, do we have another suit of armour?”

 

Fifteen minutes of bickering ensue, before the rest of the group concedes in letting Sten join them. Most still seem wary around the giant of the man, especially now that he has been equipped with a suit of chainmail and a large sword. Still, none of them can lie and say they don’t need the protection – they can make good use of another warrior at their side.

            They head to the Imperial Highway at nightfall, hoping to get out of town before it becomes too dark to proceed. The elves, having better sight at night, take the lead, Falon bounding in between them happily. As they approach the stairs to the highway, having already cut down a band of townsfolk intent on the bounty on their heads, Lux stops them.

            “Darkspawn ahead. Thread with care,” they instruct.

            They easily fall into formation, Lux slipping towards the back with Morrigan, Rose and Leliana, who has donned some leathers and carries a longbow, while the warriors, Falon and Tori take the front. The latter slips into the shadows and disappears, only becoming visible when she pounces on the back of the tallest hurlock with a yell.

            The group is quickly dispatched, and as they stand and recover, a dwarven man they hadn’t quite noticed before approaches, voice trembling but hopeful. He introduces himself as a merchant, travelling with his son, and offers them their services, in trade for protection. They travel for a bit more before setting up camp, and as Tori starts bickering with the dwarf for a discount, and the rest all spreads out to find a place to comfortably sit or lie down, Lux approaches Sten. Falon follows at their heels once again, and they’re glad for the comforting presence as they stare up at the Qunari man.

            “Are you alright?” they ask. “You were in that cage for a while.”

            “You are concerned? No need. I am fit to fight.” His answers are short, to the point.

            Lux sighs and nods. No need to push it. “You said you were in the army? The, ah, beresaad, correct?”

            “You are correct, and yes, I am.”

            “Why would the Qunari send soldiers here?”

            “The antaam are the eyes, hands, and mouth of the Qunari. We are how my people know the world.”

            Lux hums in understanding. Like the scouts of the Dalish, or ambassadors. “Why did you come here, to Ferelden?”

            “The Arishok sent us here to answer a question.”

            “What was the question?” they ask, patient with his short way of answering.

            “He asked ‘What is the Blight?’ By his command, I am now here.”

            “Well, I hope travelling with us will help you find an answer,” they say gently.

            Sten nods. “So do I.”

 

Purple scales, rows and rows of teeth. It screams in their head and they shoot up with a start, gasping for breath.

            Alistair looks over the fire towards them with sympathy. “Bad dreams, huh?”

            “Was that the Archdemon?” Lux asks softly, getting up to prepare a cup of tea for themselves.

            He nods. “It… ‘talks’ to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That’s why we know this really is a Blight.”

            “Are these dreams going to happen a lot?”

            “It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out.” He accepts a steaming cup of tea from them, watching as they make a second. “Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can’t.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too.”

            Lux sighs, sitting back down with their tea. They sip it gingerly. “Any other surprises I should know about?”

            “Other than dying young and the whole defeat the Blight alone thing? No, I’m all tapped out for surprises.” He grins, finishing his tea and getting up. “Anyhow, you’re up now, right? I should get some sleep.”


	10. The Task Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont miss chapter 9! because i was so late, im uploading two chapters at the same time.

“So, where to are we first?” Leliana questions when they’ve packed up camp.

            “I really think we should go to Redcliffe soon, if the rumours about Arl Eamon are true,” Alistair says, worry lines forming in his forehead. He and Leliana had explained the situation over dinner, including the rumours about the healing powers of Andraste’s holy ashes. Lux has their doubts, as do most of them.

            “The Circle is on the way, though. Might as well stop by, so we don’t have to retrace our path afterwards,” Rose counters. She heaves a pack of extra gear onto the dwarf merchant’s cart. Bodahn and his son, Sandal, are all too happy to assist with their travels, and they don’t handle too steep prices either.

            “To Lake Calenhad it is, then,” Tori says, slinging a light pack over her shoulders, in between two swords. She also still has her entire collection of daggers on her body – she did not seem eager to hand them off to the dwarves.

            “Lake Calenhad,” Sten echoes, looking thoughtful. Lux falls into pace with him as they walk.

            “What of it?” they ask.

            “I told you before that I was sent here,” Sten replies, seemingly straying from the topic. They continue to listen attentively, however. “I was not alone. I came to your lands with seven of the beresaad - my brothers - to seek answers about the Blight. We made our way across the Fereldan countryside without incident, seeing nothing of the threat we were sent to observe. Until the night we camped by Lake Calenhad.” His fists momentarily clench, and he pauses before continuing. “They came from everywhere: The earth beneath our feet, the air above us, our own shadows harboured the darkspawn. I saw the last of the creatures cut down, too late. I fell.”

            Lux gives him a sympathetic look. “Sounds like what happened to us at Ostagar.”

            “I heard about what happened at Ostagar.” Sten huffs. “Your kith stood their ground when others fled. No one can do more than that.” He looks off in the distance for a moment. “I don’t know how long I lay on the battlefield among the dead, nor do I know how the farmers found me. I only know that when I woke, I was no longer among my brothers. And my sword was gone from my hand.”

            “What did you do?” they ask carefully.

            “I searched for it,” he answers. “And when that failed, I asked my rescuers what had become of it.”

            Already fearing the answer, they ask, “And then?”

            “I killed them. With my bare hands.” His voice holds a tone of regret as he looks down on them. “I did. I knew they didn’t have the blade. They had no reason to lie to me. I panicked. Unthinking, I struck them down.”

            “That is… terrible,” they murmur, then wince.

            Sten bows his head. “I know. I cannot justify what I have done. My honour is forfeit. That sword was made for my hand alone,” he explains upon their questioning look. “I have carried it from the day I was set into the beresaad. I was to die wielding it for my people. Even if I could cross Ferelden and Tevinter unarmed and alone to bring my report to the Arishok, I would be slain on sight by the antaam. They would know me as soulless, a deserter. No soldier would cast aside his blade while he drew breath.”

            A moment’s silence falls, before they ask, “Could you not search for it?”

            “If I knew where to look, it would be in my hand now.” His voice returns to the cold, gruff tone it carried before.

            “You said you found the darkspawn near Lake Calenhad. It is where we are headed… we will find it.” They muster every bit of confidence they have to look him in the eyes.

            “Perhaps those words are empty, but…” Lux could swear they see a smile creeping up his face. “Thank you all the same.”

 

A day or two into their travels, Tori and Lux end up having the watch together again. Mostly, they spend it in silence, Lux mixing together some elfroot potions, Tori patching up a hole in her pants. After a while, however, she suddenly looks up.

            “Alright, I’ll bite,” she says, dropping all pretence of working immediately. “What did you mean, the name you chose?”

            Lux looks over at her with a hint of confusion, before remembering their conversation a few days back, in Lothering. “Still pondering that one, then?”

            Tori shrugs. “If you don’t wanna tell me, then don’t. I was just showing interest in your life,” she mutters defensively.

            “No, it’s alright. I will talk.” They smile, putting aside their vials. “I was born with a different name. My parents called me… well, they called me something else.” They look at her, daring to question, but she doesn’t, so they continue. “When I realised I was not the son they raised, I tried to cast that name off, but, well, you know the Dalish.”

            “Abhorrently close-minded?”

            “I would phrase it as traditional, but sure.” They smile. “It was only when I was sent away to a different clan that I was really able to change my name, change who I wanted to be. What I wanted to be.”

            “And that is? I mean, you’re not a girl, right?”

            Lux shakes their head. “Neither, is I guess how you could see it. Not male, not female. Just… me.”

            Tori hums, staring into the fire for a while as a silence falls between them. After a few minutes, she looks up again. “One more question.”

            “What, I am not allowed to ask you a question first?” they reply teasingly.

            She shrugs and waves her hand. “Alright, go for it.”

            Lux thinks for a while, then asks, “Is Tori _your_ real name?”

            “I mean, yeah. I mean, it’s-” She huffs, then laughs. “It’s Victoria, actually. But everyone just calls me Tori. ‘S easier. ‘Sides, Tori Tabris sounds way cooler.”

            “Victoria is a beautiful name.”

            “Yeah, and if you ever use it, Victoria’s gonna stab you.”

            Lux laughs softly and bows their head. “Fair enough. What did you want to know?”

            “Why did your clan send you away?” Her tone is blunt, and they tense briefly, then relax.

            “Every culture has their way of managing mages,” they reply, looking away. “Your culture locks them up in a circle. The Tevinter mages rule cities. The Qunari, from what I have heard, keep them restrained.”

            “Because they’re dangerous.”

            “In their – and your – opinion, yes. The Dalish, we do not do any of that. Our mages are well-educated by our Keeper, and taught to control themselves. However, we still tend to not take risks. This is why in some smaller clans, we do not have more than two mages: the Keeper, and the Keeper’s first.”

            “And they send others away,” Tori says, frowning.

            Lux nods. “My clan already had a mage, born earlier than me. As such, when I showed my magical prowess, my Keeper sent me to another clan, to be that clan’s Keeper’s first instead.”

            “And your parents had nothing to say against that?”

            “Do the parents of magical children taken to the Circle?” they counter. “No, they did not. If my father had still been Keeper, then perhaps, but as it was, Merrill was born earlier than me, and our Keeper preferred her.”

            “Do you miss them?” There is sympathy in Tori’s eyes.

            They shake their head. “I do not remember them too well. My current clan is… was welcoming to me in every way. I consider them more my family than clan Sabrae ever was.”

            Tori lets out a soft hum. “Well, shit Dalish.”

            “Realised I have hidden depths after all?” Lux smiles at her, chuckling when she ducks her head.

            “You’re still a prissy Dalish mage.”

            “And you are still a dirty flat-ear. Hey, catch.” They chuck a filled vial at her, smiling when her quick fingers pluck it out of the ear. “A healing draft, for when you decide to tackle five darkspawn at once again.”

            “You’re just jealous.” She smirks and tucks it into her bag. “… Thanks, Lux. Hey, you technically still have a question.”

            They get up, packing their things back up. “I will save it for later. I am going to wake up Rose. Goodnight, Victoria.”

            They hear her muffled cursing as they walk to Rose’s bedroll, and grin.

 

The small settlement at the edge of Lake Calenhad looks desolate. Lux looks back at Rose, who stares up at the looming tower in the distance.

            “Didn’t think you would be back so soon?” they ask.

            She shakes her head. “Not really. Not looking forwards to this visit, either.”

            “Yeah, well, neither am I. Shall we?” Tori marches forwards, Alistair at her heels, but Lux stays back a bit as they notice a scavenger digging in a spot on the side of the road. He turns when he notices them.

            “Back off! I was here first!”

            They smile easily, holding up their hands. “You have not seen a sword lying around here somewhere, have you?”

            The man curls up his upper lip. “Why, looking to buy one?”

            “No, but my very large, angry friend here is.” They motion towards Sten, who looms over them with a stone-faced expression.

            The man startles, stumbling back a few paces. “Ah… Is he? Heh, well…” He shuffles his feet, looking down. “That’s… See, I’d like to sell you one, but I don’t…” He clears his throat nervously. “Er… have any myself.” His eyes light up a bit. “I got part of a glove that the wolves didn’t chew up to badly!” He looks down again with a sigh. “I think it was a glove anyway…”

            Lux exchanges a look with Sten, who simply frowns.

            “I know. Don’t say it.” The man shakes his head. “I got cheated. I knew the guy who was here before me. He sold me this spot. Said he’d found giants and all kinds of crazy valuables.” He sighs again. “He didn’t mention he’d taken everything but the bones and dirt already. His name’s Faryn. Squirrelly little bastard, if you ask me. Which you didn’t. But I said it anyway.”

            Lux makes a mental note of the name. “He said he found valuables here?”

            “So he says. He didn’t leave none of it here, I’ll tell you. He was going to Orzammar, he said. I imagine he’s gotten there by now.” The scavenger smirks. “If you find him, tell him I sent you! It’ll scare the piss out of him. Heh.” His jovial nature dies down again when Sten shoots him a look, but Lux nods and leads him away to where the rest is trying to negotiate a boat.

            “We need to go to Orzammar anyway,” they murmur to the Qunari. “We will find that sword.”

 

“I am a Grey Warden, and I seek assistance of the mages.” Tori draws herself up to her full, considerable height. For an elf, she clearly had some good growth spurts, standing as tall as Rose does.

            “Oh, you’re a Grey Warden are you? Prove it.”

            “Prove it?” she asks indignantly.

            “Kill some darkspawn. Come on. Let’s see some righteous Grey Wardening.”

            Rose sighs and steps forwards. “Greagoir won’t like that you’ve given us trouble, Carroll.”

            “Oh, really? You think Greagoir would be upset with me for not letting you in? Wait...” He pauses, brow furrowing. “Actually, he would. Good point. Wait, aren’t you…”

            “We should try our best to avoid that, shouldn’t we?” she continues quickly, crossing her arms.

            “He’s the big guy around here…” He rubs the back of his head thoughtfully. “I bet he could deal with a few Grey Wardens. Alleged Grey Wardens. Well, you want that I should take you there now?”

 

The boat ride is a bit cramped, but the Templar does get them all across to the Tower. Rose and Alistair take the lead as they go in.

            Inside, there is a flurry of movement. Templars are busy putting up barricades, and they hear Greagoir’s voice ringing out above the crowd, “… and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?”

            “The doors are barred,” Alistair says softly. “Are they keeping people out? Or in?”

            “And now we wait, and pray,” Greagoir says with a sigh. Then, he notices the Wardens, and straightens his back.

            Rose straightens as well, approaching. “Ser Greagoir. It is good to see you again.”

            “Well, look who’s back.” His voice carries a melancholy tone. “A proper Grey Warden now, hm? Glad you’re not dead.”

            “What’s happening?” she asks, looking around. “Why are the great doors barred?”

            The Knight-Commander sighs. “I shall speak plainly: The tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons stalk the tower’s halls. We were too complacent. First Jowan, now this.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your role in Jowan’s escape.”

            “Who’s Jowan?” Tori mutters behind Lux. They turn to her.

            “Rose’s friend from the Circle,” they answer briefly, before looking back at Greagoir and Rose.

            “Jowan’s escape seems small compared to the situation here,” the mage says with a frown.

            “True enough,” Greagoir concedes.

            “What has become of the First Enchanter?”

            Lux looks around as well, noting a distinct lack of the man Rose speaks of. Irving had been kind to them; they hope he’s alright.

            “We don’t know,” Greagoir answers, sounding frustrated. “We saw only demons, hunting templars and mages alike. I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee.”

            Rose looks over her shoulder at them, then turns back with a steely expression. “What can we do to help?”

            “I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment.”

            By the looks on Alistair’s and Rose’s faces, that’s bad.

            “How can you think of annulling the entire Circle?” Rose asks incredulously.

            Greagoir’s voice holds a tone of remorse. “The situation is dire. There is no alternative – the entire tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again.”

            Lux’s eyes widen. Destroyed? The entirety of the Tower? “Surely there must be another option. You cannot do this.”

            “We will look for survivors,” Rose states, fists balling at her sides.

            After a brief discussion, they are allowed inside, with the clear warning that they will not be let out until the danger has passed.

            The heavy doors shut behind them with a _clang_ , and then they are alone, in the cold, deserted hallway devoid of life.


	11. Nightmare Fuel

“I don’t see why we’re not just waiting for the Right of Annulment to come in. If everyone in there is an abomination anyway…” Tori winces as she steps over the body of a mutilated Templar.

            “There are children in there,” Rose snaps, and keeps going. She has been stone-faced ever since they were locked in, her shoulders tense.

            When they turn a corner, they come upon a room populated by a few mages. Swords are drawn and spells are prepped, until Rose holds out her arm.

            “Wynne,” she calls out cautiously. An elder woman turns around, her staff extended.

            “Stop right there! Take another step, and I swear I will strike you down where you stand!” Then she blinks, and relaxes her stance. “You? You’ve returned to the tower? Why did the templars let you through? Are you here to warn us?”

            “We’ve come to help.”

            Wynne’s face softens. “I see you still care for the Circle and our tower. Unfortunately, the Circle is in grave danger.”

“From the templars,” Rose replies. “They intend to annul the Circle.”

“They have the Right of Annulment,” the elder woman says, voice soft in resignation.

Lux shakes their head. “They do not, but Greagoir has called for it.”

This prompts a long, weary sigh from Wynne. “So Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably assumes we are all dead.” Her face is grim as she turns to look at the children. “They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them.”

            “What does it mean? To annul a Circle?” Lux asks. The two Circle mages turn to look at them, and they shrug defensively. “I was not raised in your culture. I gather it must be bad, from Greagoir’s words, but I am uncertain of the true meaning.”

            “It means killing every single mage inside the tower, child.” Wynne lowers her head. “They would murder us all if they thought there was no hope.”

            “And he’s right to,” Tori says sharply. “If your mages have fallen prey to demons-”

            “And are we not still standing here?” The woman straightens up. “Not all of us are weak of will.”

            “Most of you are, and this incident only proves it. You can’t be trusted.”

Rose interrupts, raising her voice to be heard over the argument. “We waste time here when there are abominations to kill.”

“If you are here to kill abominations, let me help you.” Wynne takes her staff again. “I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children. You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save this Circle.”

“What of the children?” Lux questions, gesturing at the cowering apprentices. “Who will protect them?”

“Petra and Kinnon will watch them. If we slay all the fiends we encounter on our way, none will get by to threaten the children.” She looks determined, hope lighting up her eyes.

“Will you stand with us, Tori?” Rose asks, turning to the other elf, who has her shoulders drawn up defensively.

“If you insist,” she mutters. “I will not fight my fellow Wardens.”

Alistair puts a hand on her shoulder, looking down with a smile. “Don’t worry too much. I’ve had Templar training, I know how to fight against mages. Besides, you now totally have automatic dibs on the biggest abominations we find.”

 

Wynne dispels the barrier with a burst of light, and the party quickly moves on ahead. Neither Morrigan or Tori seem very happy at the prospect of saving the mages, each for their own reasons, but no further complaints are made. With three mages in the back, Lux moves to the frontline, utilising close-range bursts of fire and lightning to help clear the way.

            A rage demon bursts out of the ground right in front of them, flames licking at their skin in the close proximity. They grit their teeth, putting their staff in between their face and its claws, as they gather ice to their fingertips.

            Then, it’s pulled away, a shortsword burying itself into its chest once, twice, before it disperses into ash. Tori looks at them as she gets up, patting out a small fire on her arm.

            “You know, you could just ask me for a sword or something.”

            Lux smiles, ducking their head and letting Wynne fuss over them.

            They stay close to Sten from that point on, ducking and weaving around his overhanded swings, letting his massive body cover them as they weave a spell to set their weapons aflame, the fire leaving burning gashes in the abominations seemingly endlessly swarming the halls.

            They come upon a staircase, Tori and Leliana taking the lead while the rest of the party follows behind. What greets them at the top is what seems like a stockroom, and a Tranquil man standing there like he has no care in the world.

            While Rose and Wynne try to convince the strange man to go to safety, and the rest try to salvage anything from the rubbish, Morrigan pulls Lux aside.

            “I have a thought,” she says. Lux looks round to check if no one is watching, leaning against a wall.

            “What is on your mind?”

            “We have an opportunity that I believe we should take advantage of.” She leans in with a smile that Lux is wary of. “To the point: my mother was once divested of a particular grimoire by a most annoying templar hunter. It occurred long before I was born, but even today Flemeth speaks of the loss with great rage.” She chuckles. “With the Circle of Magi in such disarray, it occurs to me that this might be the perfect time to recover the tome from their possession, for surely it eventually ended up in their hands.”

“And you wish to take it for yourself.”

I am… most interested to see its contents, should it be located.” Again, that mysterious smile. “The grimoire is leather-bound and adorned with the symbol of a leafless tree, should you come across it. If not, however, then I shall simply put it out of my mind.”

“I will keep an eye out.”

 

After having convinced the Tranquil mage to at least hide somewhere, they continue on, fighting their way through abomination after abomination. It is not only demon-possessed mages that roam the halls, however, as they are loathe to find out.

            “Please, please don’t kill me,” the surviving maleficarum gasps, crawling bloody and beaten away from them. She has tears in her eyes.

            “The people you killed didn’t want to die, either,” Tori snaps, gesturing around the place. She has her blades out, ready to strike. It’s only Rose’s hand on her wrist that keeps her there.

            “I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I didn’t mean for this death and destruction. We were just trying to free ourselves. Uldred told us the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry.” She looks towards Rose, eyes wide. “Don’t you remember what it was like living here? The templars watching...” She shivers violently. “Always watching.”

            “What you’ve done will make things worse for future mages,” Rose replies, stone-faced.

            The blood mage’s voice holds a tone of confidence, now. “We thought… Someone always had to take the first step...” She swallows. “Force a change, no matter the cost.”

            Wynne speaks up, voice cold. “Nothing is worth what you’ve done to the place.”

            They turn away when Tori steps forwards, trying to block out the wet gurgle from behind them.

 

As they pass by a cupboard that’s somehow been undamaged during this whole time, Tori holds out a hand to stop the rest, frowning.

            “Someone in there?” she calls, rapping on the door.

            A weak, trembling voice comes from the inside. “N-no?”

            “Brilliant,” she mutters under her breath, then, loudly, “Guess I’ll kick the door in then!”

            With a yelp, a male mage tumbles out, wincing with every step. “Alright, alright, I’m out!” He looks around, wide-eyed, then at each of them. “Are the demons gone? Is it safe?”

            “It’s safe now,” Wynne says calmly. “Are you hurt?”

            “I have a crick in my back and my bum’s gone numb. Oh, holy Maker...” His eyebrows rise when he sees the remains of the abominations they slew. “Those demons didn’t know what hit them, did they?” He bows his head to them. “Godwin, mage of the Circle of Ferelden, at your service.”

            “We’ve killed most of the demons behind us,” Rose says. “You can escape.”

            Godwins scoffs. “And go where? The Templars have locked the door. I’m just going to stay here and see what happens.”

            As he crawls back into the cupboard, Tori and Lux exchange a look, then look away quickly in fear of bursting out into laughter.

 

“Oh look… Visitors…” The demon talks slowly, like every word has to be dragged out of it. It slowly turns to face them. Lux blinks, and frowns. This thing exudes an aura of lethargy, and they have to fight back a yawn. “I’d entertain you, but… Too much effort.”

            “Don’t listen to it,” Rose hisses, keeping a tight grip on their arm. Her other hand is clenched around Tori’s wrist.

            “Aren’t you tired of all the violence in this world? I know I am. Wouldn’t you like to just lay down and...” It gestures at the room around them. Lux notices a man laying at his feet, either dead or unconscious. “Forget about all this? Leave it all behind?”

            “We have to resist it!” Wynne calls out, but it sounds droning, muted, like they were hearing it through thick glass. Black creeps into the edges of their vision.

            “Why do you fight? You deserve more...” Black. “You deserve a rest.” Blackness. “The world will go on without you.”

            They stumble, fall to one knee. To their right, they can hear the clattering as a sword falls from someone’s grip. The whining of Falon. Muffled voices.

            Then, nothing.


	12. A World of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hshsjssjnjjjss im a day late again sorry to whoevers actually reading this)  
> (tho please if you are a comment would be appreciated, just to tell me anyone is enjoying this? im mostly writing this for like... self-indulgence and entertaining my friends but i did publish it here for a reason... even a simple 'i liked it!' would be amazing)
> 
> yeaaaaahh u guessed it its the fade!  
> small note: according to patrick weekes, lethallen is the appropriate genderneutral term for lethallan/lin so thats what im using!

Leaves shift and rustle in the soft breeze, breaks in the foliage letting through rays of warm sunshine that colour their face in a mottled pattern of light and shadow. They extend an arm, letting the rays peek through the gaps of their fingers.

            There is the disturbance of bushes, snaps of twigs underneath feet, before a shadow falls over them. Their arm drops to their side and they squint up.

            “You are standing in my sun, shithead.”

            From above them, melodious laughter fills the air. Durwen crouches down with a goofy smile on his face.

            “Maybe your sun was standing in my beautiful visage, lethallen.”

            “That does not make any sense. Come here.” They snatch his wrist and pull him down so he stumbles, landing in the grass next to them with a _thud_. Triumphant, they put their head in his lap, staring up at him.

            “Not that this is not nice and comfortable, but I did come here for a reason. The Keeper is looking for you.” He strokes their hair, fingers dislodging tangles with care.

            “What did I do now?”

            Durwen frowns, hand stopping its movement. “Did you forget? He’s passing down the title to you today, remember? There is to be a big celebration.”

            “Right.” They close their eyes, fighting their confusion. This is a big day. They need to be in control. “Remind me why he is passing it down to me? He is still doing alright, is he not?”

            “Because you’re amazing, obviously,” he drawls. “Singlehandedly fending off the darkspawn like that. You saved our entire clan.”

            Darkspawn. Did they do that?

            Darkspawn.

            That’s a Grey Warden problem.

            The Grey… Wardens.

            The darkspawn! A hurlock crashing through the underbrush, spittle flying out through its sharpened teeth. Durwen, calling out for them to run, collapsing as he clutches at a wound in his shoulder. Duncan, saving them from certain death. The taint. The Joining. The battle.

            “This is not real,” they say, surprised to find their voice unwavering.

            “I know, right? This is unbelievable. You, the Keeper of the clan!”

            “No, Durwen.” They get up, scooting away from the visage of their once friend. Their very, very dead friend. “You are not real. This is a dream. The demon…” Sloth. It trapped them here, in this dream? Then surely, the others must also be somewhere. They have to find them.

            “What are you talking about, lethallen? There is no demon. Come, lie down with me for a while.”

            “You just said I had to leave.” Lux stands up, gathering dirt and rock to their hands. “Do not deceive me by taking on his visage, demon. You will not fool me.”

            As the fraudulent visage of their beloved friend gets up, they unleash the spell, blasting him backwards with an earthen fist. Two other Dalish elves burst out of the foliage, centring in on them, but they find themselves able to keep up with them quite easily, stepping in a tight circle, calling down balls of fire and jolts of lightning that dance from foe to foe.

            As the last of them falls, they, too, sink to their knees, muttering a prayer to Falon’din for safe passage of their lost souls.

            Then, they get up, face steely and cold. Time to find their friends, and get out of here.

 

The talk with Niall is interesting, but ultimately quite useless. What is useful, however, is the innate Fade ability to change their shape. The mouse shape is slow, but getting in between small cracks and gaps is excellent in this strange dreamscape.

            The flaming soldier, however, is definitely their preferred shape for now. As they cut down the dreamer with their flaming sword, the pedestal in the corner glows, and they move to investigate it, only to find themselves in another dream. This one is different from the dreamscapes they’ve been going through in that the space is small, confined. At a glance around, they realise they’re in a dining room. There’s the clatter of cutlery, clinking of glassware, and the upbeat sounds of conversation filling the air. The moment their feet hit the floor, they shift into the mouse shape, studying the scene in front of them.

 

_“To three years of freedom!” her father calls out, raising his glass. She smiles, raising her own and clinking it against his. Soris and his wife join, followed by Shianni. It’s been three years since they got out of the Alienage, three years since their freedom. The cottage on the hill just outside of the city, bought with hard-earned money, is home to their happy family._

_Tori puts her glass down after a long sip, picking up her cutlery and digging into her food. She laughs when Soris tries to steal a bite from her plate, playfully challenging him to a duel with her fork._

_Suddenly, a movement in the corner of the room catches her eye. She puts down her silverware, frowning at the shimmering shape of the elf rising from the ground._

_“Excuse me? Did you need something?”_

_Her father frowns, standing up. “How did you get in here?”_

_The elf sighs, taking a staff from their back. Tori curses and jumps up, taking her hidden knife from her boot. “Not a step further, mage! We will report you to the Templars!”_

_“Will you now, Tori?” they ask, sounding slightly resigned._

_Her father puts a hand on her arm. “Victoria, dear, calm down. Soris, can you go and alert the Templars? I’m sure we can talk this out peacefully, and-”_

_“Your father calls you Victoria?” the elf calls out, mocking. “Does not sound like something he would do, does it?”_

_“It’s my name,” she hisses, though some semblance of doubt worms itself into her head. It_ is _her name. Her dad_ always _calls her Victoria._

_“You prefer Tori. You threatened to kill me if I called you Victoria.”_

_“I don’t even know you!” She launches herself at the elf, despite her dad’s protests. However, when it becomes clear that the mage is quite powerful, keeping her back with cones of crackling lightning, he and Soris come to her assistance, drawing blades she hadn’t even seen them grab._

_No, seriously, where did they get those? Her dad isn’t even any good in a fight, and yet he’s striking at the strange elf without effort, utilising techniques she didn’t know he knew._

_Techniques she uses, frequently. Twirls and dramatic moves to confuse the enemy, draw their attention away so she can slip in between the cracks, the flaws. Techniques that Lux would call ‘showy’ and ‘unnecessary’._

_Wait, Lux. The Dalish._

_“Cannot hit me, Victoria?” they shout, a grin on their face despite having to fend off two of her relatives, and Tori scowls._

_Oh, they are going to_ get it _when she wakes up._

“What is this place?” Tori asks when the fight has ended, all pretences dropped. She looks around the world, which has faded from a cosy cottage to a grassy hill. Lux stares out into the distance for a moment, marvelling at the sight of a broken statue floating off into the air.

            “The Fade,” they answer after a moment. “Sloth drew us in, pulled us into dreams so we would not want to escape. After all, it would be too good to be true, and your dreaming self would so easily accept it.”

            Tori scoffs, pulling her knees up under her. “It’s just a dream. I know it’s not real. I mean, I know now.”

            They nod. “They are tempting. I admit, it had me confused for a while, too. But it cannot be real. You realise this, right?” They shoot a sideways glance at Tori, who is stubbornly staring off, away from them.

            “I know that, Dalish. I know how dreams work.”

            Lux lets a silence fall for a few minutes, before asking, “Is it something you would want?” Tori jerks, staring down at the grass. “A peaceful life with your family, it sounds tempting, no?”

            “… It would probably bore me after a while,” she admits, voice gruff. “You know me. Life without giant ogres to jump on? Nah, thanks.”

            They laugh. “Fair enough.”

            Tori stays quiet for a moment, then looks sideways at them. “Hey, sorry for threatening to call the Templars on you. And, uh, stabbing you.” She looks awkwardly at where her blade managed to pierce them in the arm.

            Lux blinks, just remembering about that, and puts a hand over the wound. “You are forgiven. For, ah, for both.” It’s not like they can blame her. “It is only natural.”

            “Yeah. Well, so, what do we do now? Did you find the rest yet?” Tori looks around rapidly, like at any moment Sten might jump out from the bushes behind them.

            “I have not, you were the first I found. Should we split up? Might help us cover ground faster…”

            “Man, I don’t know how to navigate a place like this,” she answers, frowning. “Show me?”

            Lux nods, getting up and extending a hand towards Tori. She takes it, getting up with a faint smile. “Follow me, then. Into the world of dreams we go.”

 

They find Sten surrounded by his Qunari brethren, and manage to convince him after Tori curtly reminds him he gave the Wardens his word he would follow. Falon is glad to see them, seemingly not affected much by the Fade at all. After this, Tori and Lux decide to split up – neither of their other two companions have managed to stay by their sides, and they still have a few to go.

            Lux finds Wynne, helping her get through a rather traumatic dream, before ending up in surroundings that look just like the ones they left when Sloth worked its magic on them. The Circle is whole, now, however, and mages and apprentices wander about contentedly.

            They blend in quietly, the staff on their back helping a considerable amount, as well as the fact that not many of the dream’s inhabitants actually seem to have a consciousness clear enough to pay mind to them.

            With Wynne taken care of before, there’s only one person that could possibly be dreaming here.

 

_“Will you stop distracting me?” Rose swats at Jowan’s hands, constantly creeping into the edge of her vision, turning random pages in the book she’s attempting to read._

_“Not until it stops annoying you,” he replies, sliding both arms around her from behind. For a moment, she’s fooled into thinking it might be a hug – then, he uses both hands to flip two pages at once, and she huffs, shutting the book entirely._

_“Alright, fine. You have my undivided attention, what is it?”_

_“Your_ boyfriend _,” oh, she can_ hear _him pull a face, “was asking about you. Think it was a subtle hint for you to go visit him.”_

_Despite the redness creeping up her face, she manages to bite out an indignant, “Not my boyfriend,” and gets up. “Besides,” she says, turning around and shoving Jowan out of the way, “if he needed to see me, he could simply come upstairs and find me.”_

_“That was my second plan,” an amused voice sounds from the doorway, and both Rose and Jowan turn, his hair flying around to smack her in the face. She curses and shoves him again, clearing her throat._

_“Cullen! I mean, Ser Cullen. I mean, Cullen!”_

_“Wouldn’t it technically be Ser Rutherford?” Jowan mutters, but she ignores him, striding towards the Templar._

_“You needed me?” she asks, having to physically restrain herself from patting down her robes. Then, she turns and glares. “Get_ out _Jowan,” she hisses. Her best friend holds up his hands, slowly walking towards the exit, a shit-eating grin on his face._

_“Gotcha, gotcha. Have fun, you two.” He winks as he passes Cullen, who simply rolls his eyes and gives a dignified nod._

_Cullen looks back at her, a faint smile creeping onto his face. “I simply wanted to take you out for a walk. Will you join me?” He holds out his arm, which Rose gladly takes, fighting back a wide smile of her own._

_“Certainly,” she replies in (what she hopes is) a light, airy voice._

_They exit the quarters, turning the corner, before coming upon an elven mage leaning against the wall. She would have passed them by entirely, if it wasn’t for the scowl directed at her. They look rather out of place, here – Rose knows every Senior Enchanter by name and face, and this one is definitely not one of them. They do carry a staff, however, and hold themselves with a confidence that indicates some semblance of power._

_“Sorry, can I help you?” she asks. Cullen stops walking, turning to also look at the elf with a frown._

_The elf pushes away from the wall, crossing their arms in a casual, yet challenging stance. “That is low, Rose,” they mutter. “Fraternising with your captors? Those who have locked you away here?”_

_Cullen lets go of her arm, drawing his sword defensively. “What is your business here, mage? You do not belong here.”_

_The elf laughs at that, head thrown back before coming back to glare at him. “No, I do not.” Now that Cullen has drawn attention to it, she too notices the elf looks very out of place – they’re not wearing Circle robes, but muted greens and browns, strips of leather coming together in an outfit that looks – for the lack of a better word –_ wild _. Faded green markings cover their face, and the sight of it sparks a memory of a word, perhaps something she’s read._ Vallaslin _, blood writing._

_“You are… Dalish, aren’t you?” she asks, cautiously. The elven mage cocks their head, looking at her now._

_“I am. My other companion is not.”_

_Without looking around to see what they’re referring to, the name has left their mouth. “Tori. No, she’s a city elf, she-” She clasps her head over her mouth, not knowing why she just said that._

_Lux- No, the elf smiles, and nods slowly._

_Cullen steps forwards, aggressively now, pointing his sword at them. “I don’t know how you got in here, intruder, but rest assured, I will take care of you.”_

_“Cullen, wait!” Her warning falls on deaf ears as the Templar charges forwards, a burst of magic-suppressing energy radiating off of him. Lux doesn’t seem bothered by it, however, simply raising up their staff and blocking his sword with it, before ducking and swinging it at his legs._

_Rose grits her teeth, then takes her own staff out of the holster on her back, the one she never put on to begin with. She knows what side she needs to take in this battle, and it’s not the one of the dream._

_She gathers up energy, and shoots Cullen straight in the back with an arcane blast._

“I like you better than Tori,” Lux decides, slumping onto the desk chair. “Way, way better.”

            “Not that this is news to me, but why this time?”

            “She stabbed me,” they complain, gesturing at the wound in their arm. Rose sighs, rolling her eyes and walking over to heal it.

            “You must have deserved it, somehow. Speaking of, where is our favourite city elf?”

            “Helping out the other members of our party,” Lux replies, getting up and stretching their arms above their head. “Say, you wouldn’t _really_ hook up with a Templar, would you?” They look at Rose, whose ears are slowly turning red, and groan softly. “By the Creators, no.”

            “It was just a dream!” she sputters. “It wasn’t real!”

            “Yes, funny how dreams work. Say, how about we go stab that Sloth demon to bits now?”

            “Let’s go, before Tori has already jumped it.”

 

Tori does, in the end, jump it. Multiple times, in fact – one for each form the damned demon takes. The missing members of their party have all been summoned by the thing, though, and together they manage to take down form after form, demon after demon, until finally, the last of it burns down into embers and ash.

            And they wake up.


	13. Prideful Fall

“Oh, Niall,” Rose murmurs, looking over the broken body of the mage, spread out across the steps. Lux joins them, knocking their shoulders together.

            “He was kind to me, in the Fade. Showed me the way. Did you know him?”

            “Vaguely. We talked, at times. He was always a bit… closed-off. Would rather we mages all secluded ourselves on an island somewhere.” She gives a pained smile and crouches down, digging through his robes. “Is this it?” she asks, holding up the Litany of Adralla.

            “That is it,” Wynne confirms, crouching down next to the body as well. She starts straightening out his robes, combing back his hair with a motherly care.

            Rose straightens up, looking over her fellow companions. Most of them still seem a little disoriented, just having woken up from a jarring fight in an ethereal world. She wears a look of pained determination; Lux gently lays a hand on her shoulder.

            “We have to go on. Fighting with this… this Litany, we can take down the rest of the maleficar easily. We should not let his sacrifice be in vain.” They might not have known Niall personally, but he had seemed like a good person. They want to honour his death, at least.

            “Let’s go then,” Tori exclaims, squinting unhappily. “No time to waste.”

 

As they make their way to the staircase, they are met with a rather strange sight. A force cage covers a corner of the space, encasing a single man in Templar armour. With a jolt, Lux realises they know him – not from their time at the Circle before, but from Rose’s dream.

            Rose also realises this, and rushes forwards with a gasp. “Cullen?”

            The Templar backs away from them, eyes wide. “This trick again? I know what you are. It won’t work. I will stay strong...” He has bags under his eyes, and his cheekbones are bruised, scrapes standing out bright red against the darkened skin.

            “Cullen, it’s me,” Rose says, putting a hand on the barrier. It doesn’t budge under her touch at all. “Don’t you recognise me?”

            “Who’s he?” Tori mutters beside them. They look back at her.

            “Cullen. He is a templar here at the Circle. I think… I think he and Rose have had some previous… relations.” They keep their voice low, keeping an eye on the other mage, who is not having much luck.

            “Don’t touch me!” he calls out. “Stay away! Sifting through my thoughts...” He cringes, bowing his head. “Tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have. Using my shame against me...” He sinks back to his knees, fingers clenched into fists. “My ill-advised infatuation with her… A mage, of all things.” As he looks up, Rose takes a step back at the hatred gleaming in his tired eyes.

            “Cullen, this is not a trick,” she says softly. “We’re here to help…”

            “Silence!” he yells, scrambling back onto his feet. “I’ll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!” He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. When his glance falls on Rose, he takes a trembling step forwards. “Still here? But that’s always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them.”

            “It’s because I’m real, Cullen. I’m here to help you. We all are.”

            His eyes shift for the first time to the rest of the group, then back at her. “Rose… don’t blame me for being cautious. The voices were…” His voice is trembling. “The images… they were so real…”

            “Bet you wish you hadn’t said those things now, huh?” Tori remarks, crossing her arms with a slight smirk.

            Cullen straightens his shoulders. “I am beyond caring what you think. Any of you. The Maker knows my sin, and I pray he will forgive me.” He shakes his head. “Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?”

            “This was my home. Does it surprise you that I have returned?”

            “As it was my home. And look what they’ve done to it.” He sneers. “They deserve to die. Uldred most of all. They caged us like animals...” He gestures at the barrier. “Looked for ways to break us. I’m the only one left...”

            “Be proud,” Sten says from the back. “You mastered yourself.”

            “Be proud? What is there to be proud of? That I lived and they died? They turned some into...” His face twists into disgust and pain. “Monsters. And... And there was nothing I could do.” He presses a fist to his face, audibly choking back a sob. Lux frowns, pulling at a strip of leather on their staff. They might not like the Templars, and they absolutely do not like Cullen on principle, after what they’ve seen and heard, but this is not something anyone deserves.

            “You must stay strong,” they say gently, approaching the barrier.

            Cullen looks up sharply, glaring at them, before turning his glare on Rose. “And to think I once thought we were too hard on you,” he spits.

            “We’re not all evil, Cullen,” she says softly, looking like she’s fighting back tears herself. Her voice sounds choked up.

            “Only mages have that much power at their fingertips,” he says, voice filled with a mixture of fear and loathing. “Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons.”

            Lux wants to speak up, but Wynne is faster. “This is a discussion for another time!” She steps forwards, putting a hand on both their shoulders. “Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred. Where are they?”

            “They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out from there...” His face goes pale. “Oh, Maker...”

            “Then we must hurry,” Lux says. “We can still save some of them.”

            “You can’t save them,” Cullen interjects. “You don’t know what they’ve become.”

            “I am a mage too, Cullen, in case you’ve forgotten,” Rose snaps. She steps away from the barrier.

            “They’ve been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mine and corrupt your thoughts.” He looks genuinely worried for her.

Wynne’s voice sounds sympathetic as she studies Cullen. “He’s suffered pain and anguish like few have had to endure. That and his lust for revenge have confused the issue –”

“Do not presume to judge me, mage! I am thinking clearly for perhaps the first time in my life.”

“We need to at least try,” Rose states, turning to walk towards the stairs.

“Are you really saving anyone by taking this risk? To ensure this horror is ended...” Cullen steps towards them. “To guarantee no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there.”

“We have made our decision,” Lux states, taking Rose’s shoulder as they walk along with her.

“Maker turn his gaze on you. I hope your compassion hasn’t doomed us all.”

 

The smell of rotting flesh and dried blood hits them when they ascend the stairs, entering what must be the Harrowing chamber. An elderly mage stands in the middle of the room, seemingly not bothered by any of it. Around him, in cages of shimmering light, are a dozen more mages, including Irving, sitting or standing in various states of injury.

            The man they assume to be Uldred turns at their entrance and smiles. “Ah, look what we have here,” he says. His voice booms through the room at an unnatural volume, an underlying echo hinting at demonic influence. He gestures at Rose, who leads the group, hands gripped around her staff. “I remember you. Irving’s star pupil.” His eyes briefly glance around at the rest, but come to rest back on her. “Uldred didn’t think much of you then, and I certainly don’t see your appeal now…”

            “In that case, I think I’ll just kill you,” Rose snarls, the end of her staff lighting up.

            Uldred’s form shifts and twists, rising up immeasurably, until before them stands the form of a pride demon, towering over them with a snarl. Lux looks back at Tori, who smirks back at them.

            “Dibs,” she says.

            And the room bursts into motion.

            In the background, Wynne’s voice is an everlasting presence, reading out the Litany to prevent Uldred from calling the other mages to his beck and call. The melee fighters gather around, hitting it when its back its turned to deal with a threat in front of it, while Rose, Morrigan, Leliana and Lux form a half-circle around the thing, arrows and spells flung every which direction. The height of the demon proves to be a surprising aid to their efforts, as Lux is able to shoot balls of fire at its massive head without harming the rest of the group; meanwhile, Morrigan puts a good effort into making sure the thing is kept in one place.

            They gasp when Alistair is knocked off his feet, flying across the room when the demon kicks backwards. He’s up and about again quickly, however, a green mist surrounding him as Wynne extends a hand. That same green mist then envelops Tori, who lets out a yell as she sinks both daggers into its side. It doubles over, giving her an opening to leap –

            Which is when Sten’s heavy sword comes downward in a swing, plunging into its neck. The demon seems to almost crumple inwards, like its caught in a whirlpool, before dissolving into a pile of ashes and rags.

            While Tori and Sten have a mostly one-sided discussion, Lux rushes over to assist the trapped mages, along with Wynne and Rose; they don’t have much of a knack for healing themselves, so they take out some of their elfroot potions, handing them to those who look worst off.

            Rose approaches, assisting a weary-eyed Irving. “The Circle owes all of you a debt we will never be able to repay,” the man says, leaning heavily on his staff. “Come. The Templars await. We shall let them know the tower is once again ours.”

            “Lead on,” Tori remarks.

            Alistair offers his help in assisting Irving down the stairs, putting an arm under his shoulder. As they slowly descend the steps, he mutters, “Ah, curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower…”

 

Greagoir’s face shows a hint of relief as he watches the group come through the doors. “Irving? Maker’s breath, I did not expect to see you alive.” He instructs one of his Templars to take the First Enchanter from Alistair, leading him to a chair.

            “It is over, Greagoir. Uldred is… dead.”

            Cullen, who had been led down alongside them, looks up from where he too had been put on a chair. “Uldred tortured these mages, hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations. We don’t know how many of them have turned.”

            “What?” Irving shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

            “Of course he’ll say that!” Cullen tries to stand up, but is held back by another Templar. “He might be a blood mage! Don’t you know what they did? I won’t let this happen again!”

            “I am the Knight-Commander here, not you,” Greagoir says firmly, though there is sympathy in his eyes as he looks at Cullen. He looks over at the Wardens then, and Lux steps forwards.

            “I believe order has restored to the Circle.”

            Greagoir nods, accepting this answer. He looks at Irving, who looks back up at him. “We will rebuild. The Circle will go on, and we will learn from this tragedy, and be strengthened by it.”

            “We have won back the tower. I will accept Irving’s assurance that all is well.”

            “But-” Cullen protests, again trying and failing to get up. “But they may have demons within them, lying dormant…” Not managing to fight back the Templar, he sinks into his chair. “Lying in wait!”

            “Enough! I have already made my decision.” Greagoir gives him a sharp glance, then looks back at the group, bowing his head. “Thank you. You have proven yourselves friends of both the Circle, and the templars.”

            “I will always protect my home,” Rose says softly. “No matter the cost.”

            The Knight-Commander actually gives a small smile at this. “Very well. For now, I will have to oversee a sweep of the tower. There may be some survivors and we should do our best to tend to them. Please, excuse me. And Irving...” As he walks past, he puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

            Irving gives a wry smile. “Ah, I’m sure we will be at each other’s throats again in no time.”

 

With the mage’s promise of aid, and Wynne petitioning the First Enchanter for leave to travel alongside them, the Wardens and their assorted group of companions travel back to the docks, riding the boat back over the lake. Rose looks back at the Tower, face unreadable.

            “I can’t believe so much happened since I left,” she says, frowning.

            Wynne stands beside her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You did well. You saved us.”

            “Yeah, we’re right heroes,” Tori comments with a cocked smile. “Now let’s go, I have a bone to pick with a certain hornless qunari about kill-jacking, and I’d prefer to do that in a well-lit, warm tavern.”


	14. Strangers and Estrangement

“So, what’s next on the list?” Alistair asks, as they’ve all sat down with food and drinks at the small tavern by the lake. A plan was offered up to travel a bit further, but quickly shot down by the majority of the group. Most of them still carry injuries that are better healed by the fire of a hearth than in a muddy campsite. With Tori finally talked down from picking a fight with Sten, they have the opportunity now to discuss their further plans.

            “I still need to go to my clan,” Lux says. “But from what I understood, it would be best to head to Redcliffe first, if I am correct?”

            “I need to know how Eamon fares,” Alistair says, nodding. “If he’s really that ill… Well, maybe we could help him.”

            “By searching for a myth?” Morrigan asks, crossing her arms with a sneer. “In my opinion, ‘tis a waste of time.”

            “I agree. We need to go after the archdemon, not folly around in villages,” Sten remarks. “If you seek assistance, seek it where you are guaranteed to find aid.”

            “So the elves and the dwarves.” Rose nods thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right…”

            “Don’t see what’s wrong with at least passing by Redcliffe on the way,” Tori protests. “Cities are valuable sources of information.”

            “You would know, flat-ear.” The smile Lux gives her is genuine, softening the insult, and Tori only replies by kicking them under the table.

            “What she says is true. Cities are an excellent manner of finding out information we need.” Leliana folds her hands under her chin. “Not even all of us need to go – we are with plenty of people, we could split up.”

            “It’d be weakening our numbers, but it could be worthwhile,” Alistair considers.

            “I agree. Half of us could go to Redcliffe, while the rest heads towards the Dalish.” Morrigan says. “I will join the Dalish group – I have no interest in your politics.”

            “Thank you,” Lux says, looking at her with a smile. They then look at the rest of the group. “Alistair, I suppose you will want to visit Redcliffe?” At his nod, they continue, “You should take Wynne and Rose, then.”

            “I’m also going to Redcliffe,” Tori quickly says, putting her hands on the table. “No forests for me.”

            Lux chuckles and nods. “I expected as much. Sten? Will you join me?”

            “Very well,” the giant says.

            “I shall go to Redcliffe as well,” Leliana offers. “I am of more use in a city anyway.”

            “It’s decided, then.” Alistair puts his tankard down on the table with a definite _thud_. “Tomorrow, we split up and head our own ways.”

            “Aye!” Tori yells, and chugs the remainder of her ale at once.

 

They set out by morning. Bodahn with his cart follows the group headed towards Redcliffe, more accustomed to the road there, while Lux leads their group towards the Brecilian Forest. They silently pray the clan has not moved on yet – when they last left them, they were not in any state to travel, but who knows what their condition is now.

            They mostly stick to the road, most too unaccustomed to the lands to navigate through it. This also has the added benefit of mostly avoiding wandering groups of darkspawn that pass through, though when they get closer to Lothering, this becomes unavoidable. The town seems overrun, like they had previously predicted. The group wisely skirts around it, giving it a wide berth; there is no saving it now.

            A few days into the journey, they are held up by a young woman approaching, waving frantically. Despite Sten’s and Morrigan’s protests, Lux stops to greet her.

            “Oh, thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the wagon; please, help us!” She turns, running back. Lux exchanges a look with their team members, both frowning back at them, then shrugs and follows the woman. The entire thing reeks of a trap, but they’d prefer to face it head-on at this point. Falon stays at their flank, growling softly.

            It doesn’t take long for the trap to be sprung, a tree falling behind them, blocking off their exit. An elven man stands near the front of a group of freshly-risen ‘bodies’, raising a sword into the air.

            “The Grey Warden dies here!” he calls out, and the rest springs to attack.

            It’s a tough fight, with only the three of them and the mabari. Arrows fly down from raised sections of the path, and the elf himself is a force to behold, parrying Sten’s massive sword blows and taking advantage of the gaps in his armour. However, the assassins prove themselves unable to deal with two mages unleashing their wrath upon them, and soon most of them are charred ash and slumped piles of corpses.

            Falon lets out a bark, and Lux looks over, finding the mabari proudly sitting on the elven man himself. They shoo him off, and Sten assists them in tying the man up, setting him against the fallen tree.

            Slowly, he comes to, blinking against the light of the sun before focusing in on Lux’ face. “Mhm… what?” He twitches, like he was trying to move an arm, then settles when he realises it’s no good. “Ah… I see.” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.” He carries an accent that they haven’t heard in a while, but recognise as Antivan.

            “We have some questions for you,” they say, straightening their back in an attempt to look as imposing as possible.

            “Ah! So I’m to be interrogated. Let me save you some time.” He gives them a smile. “My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.”

            “You were hired, then. By whom?”

            “A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that’s it.” Lux glances at their companions, then back at him. So they still have a bounty on their heads. Interesting information.

            “And you are loyal to this Loghain?”

            Zevran smirks. “I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes?” He shrugs, for as much as he can in his bonds. “Beyond that, no, I’m not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.”

            “And now that you have failed this service?” They lean on their staff, bending down a little to get a better look at him. He has a handsome face, lacking the markings that would denote him as Dalish; he only sports a few curved lines on one side.

            “Well, that’s between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.”

            “And between you and me?”

            He gives them another infuriating smirk. “Isn’t that what we’re establishing now?”

            They roll their eyes, straightening back up. “I think that is all we need to know,” they say, looking back at Morrigan and Sten, who tighten their grip on their respective weapons.

            Zevran clears his throat. “Well, unless you’re quite stuck on cutting my throat or something equally gruesome, perhaps you’d care to hear a proposal?”

            Lux turns their head back towards him, squinting. “I am… listening,” they say hesitantly.

            “Well, here’s the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will.” He doesn’t look entirely bothered by this. “Thing is, I like living. And you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.”

            They raise their eyebrows. “What do you want in return?”

            “Well, let’s see.” He cocks his head. “Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the line if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?”

            Lux doesn’t look at their companions, who they know with certainty are ready to kill the elf. Instead, they cock their head back at him, and smile. “I accept.”

 

Morrigan and Sten both pronounce them crazy, but they shrug it off easily. They’re the Warden, not them, and in their eyes, Zevran is useful. They do make sure to keep an eye on them at all times, making him sleep next to them, with someone keeping watch, always.

            After three days, they’re mostly convinced he won’t try to kill them. Zevran is very… genuine in his actions. He flirts as recklessly with them as he flirts with death, and they find themselves easily fall into banter with them like they don’t do with much people.

            He is also rather handy to have in a fight, as they have come to realise. Truly, it’s like having Tori around again, except he is actually functional in battle. He is also fairly skilled with poisons, and they whip up some improved batches over many campfires.

            “So, you are Dalish, no?” Zevran asks one evening as they stand watch. Lux hums in acknowledgement.

            “You are not, I suppose.”

            “My mother was Dalish,” he answers with a shrug. “So I was told, in any case. She had fallen in love with an elven woodcutter and accompanied him back to the city, leaving her clan behind for good. And there, of course, the woodcutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book.” He sounds oddly calm about it all.

            “That sounds… horrible.” They swallow. “I am sorry.”

            “It seemed normal enough a tale growing up, no different than the other elven boys in the whorehouse,” he says, casually. “I didn’t know my mother, either, of course. She died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were.” He gives a short, flat laugh. “We were all raised communally by the whores. It was a happy enough existence, ignoring the occasional beating, until eventually I was sold to the Crows. I brought a good price, so I hear.”

            Sold, like cattle. The more Lux hears about these Crows, the less they like it. “Sorry to hear it, Zevran.”

            “It could have been much worse,” he says with a shrug. “Shall I tell you about what happened to the other whorehouse boys who did not fetch a decent price with the Crows?”

            They shake their head. “I think I can imagine.”

            “Bringing me back to my point,” he continues, “my mother’s Dalish nature was always a point of fascination for me.” He sighs, looking away for a moment. “Through all the years of my Crow training, the one thing of my mother’s that I possessed was a pair of gloves. They were of Dalish make, I knew that much, and beautiful. I had to keep them hidden, of course, as we were not allowed such things. Eventually they were discovered, and I never saw them again.”

            “Have any happy stories, Arainai?” They laugh, softly, unwilling to show the sadness lingering beneath that.

            “Oh, there has been plenty. To tell the truth, it is because I expected nothing more. Still, even I eventually thought that it would be better for me if I ran off to join the famous Dalish when one of their clans drew near Antiva City." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Naturally the reality did not live up at all to the fantasies I had constructed as a boy, staring at those gloves. But... Such is life.”

            “And now you would never think of joining a clan again,” they surmise, unsurprised when he lets out a laugh.

            “No, no I would not.” He turns to look at them, questioning. “Will you? When all this is over?”

            Lux hesitates, biting the inside of their lip. That is a very good question, and they’re not sure they have an answer for it. “I… I will have to wait and see. Perhaps I die in this Blight, and I will not have to worry about it any longer.”

            “A good view on life to have.”

 

They materialise out of nowhere. If their travelling party had comprised of anyone else than their three current companions, there would have probably been more shock and surprise, but all of them stay quiet as Lux steps forwards to greet the welcoming party.

            “ _Andaran atish’an, lethallin_. It is good to see you well.”

            “You…” Mithra blinks and nearly drops her bow as she looks at them, shock apparent on her face. “You’re alive? We thought… you must go see Zathrian immediately!”

            “Lead the way,” they reply, motioning for the rest to follow, into the camp of their clan.


	15. A Village Rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look heres a chapter on time for a change!  
> since the group is now split up, ill be switching povs from chapter to chapter. this chapter deals with redcliffe - the next will go back to the dalish camp, and so on.

It’s been a few days of walking around the lake, towards Redcliffe village. Their current party dynamics are quite nice – she might be stuck with two mages, but Alistair is fun to have around, and she’s even starting to warm up to Leliana a bit. And at least the dog has gone with its master, so it can’t slobber all over her pants again.

            Tori walks up alongside Alistair with a pleased hum, a bounce in her steps. “So, tell me about this Arl Eamon,” she says, nudging him with her elbow. She has _heard_ of the man, of course, hard not to, but it seems like Alistair knows the man a bit more personally.

            “You mentioned he raised you?” Rose questions, coming up on his other side.

            Alistair pulls a face. “Did I say that? I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact.” He smiles innocently.

            “That must’ve been tough for them,” Tori comments with a grin.

            “Well, they were flying dogs, you see. Surprisingly strict parents, too, and devout Andrastians, to boot.”

            “I bet your mother was a bitch.”

            Alistair and Rose both burst out laughing. He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I give up! I am no match for your wit.” He clears his throat. “Let’s see, how do I start… I’m a bastard.” Tori opens her mouth, but he quickly continues. “And before you make any smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind.” She closes her mouth again. “My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle who died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn’t my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head. He was good to me, and he didn’t have to be. I respect the man and I don’t blame him any more for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough.”

            “So if he’s not your father, do you know who is?” Rose asks.

            “I know who I was told was my father. He died even before my mother did, anyhow. It isn’t important. Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king because it was so soon after the war. But he loved her.” Alistair sighs while Tori pulls a face. “Anyhow, the new arlessa resented the rumours which pegged me as his bastard. They weren’t true, but of course they existed. The arl didn’t care, but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well. The arlessa made sure the castle wasn’t a home to me by that point. She despised me.”

            “That’s awful,” Tori mutters. “To do that to a child…”

            “Maybe. She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can’t say I blame her. She wondered if the rumours were true herself, I bet.” He shrugs. “I remember I had an amulet with Andraste’s holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother’s. I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered.” He presses his eyes shut. “Stupid, stupid thing to do. The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything... and eventually he just stopped coming.”

            “You were young,” Rose says, putting a hand on his arm.

            “And raised by dogs,” he replies with a small grin. “Or I may as well have been, the way I acted. But maybe all young bastards act like that, I don’t know. All I know is the arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. He was also King Cailan’s uncle, so he has a personal motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did. Anyway...” He looks off to the side. “That’s really all there is to the story.”

            Tori doubts it, but she doesn’t want to press it, not right now. They still have plenty of time before they reach the village, anyway.

 

“So, you’re a Templar.” Rose slides onto the log Alistair is sitting on, trying her best to act casual.

            He starts, looking up at her. “Well, not officially,” he replies. “I ended up joining the Grey Wardens before I took the sacramental vows.” He shrugs, having the decency to look a little ashamed. She smiles encouragingly. “It’s really for the best. I’m not exactly the Chantry type, if you haven’t noticed. I don’t think I would have made a very good templar.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his head. “The grand cleric didn’t want to let me go. Duncan was forced to conscript me, actually, and was she ever furious when he did. I thought she was going to have us both arrested. I was lucky.”

            Rose tilts her head. “Why did she want to keep you?”

            Alistair shrugs. “I wondered that myself. It’s not as if she valued me highly. I think she just didn’t want to give anything to the Grey Wardens, is all.” He smiles wryly. “The Chantry didn’t lose much. And I think I can do more fighting the Blight anyhow rather than sitting in a temple somewhere. I’ll always be thankful to Duncan for recruiting me.”

            “As will I,” she says, laying a hand on his arm. “He was a good man. I think we will all remember him fondly.”

            “I just can’t believe he’s gone.” Alistair sighs, looking out into the fire with a glum expression. “Sometimes I don’t know how we’re going to do this without him.”

            “We’ll have to. That’s how.” Rose hesitates, then shuffles in closer and puts her head on his shoulder. She then pulls back, wincing. “Oh, never mind, I just realised why I hate that heavy armour you guys wear.”

            He laughs, the tips of his ears turning red. She notices with amusement the ends of them are slightly pointed and turned up. “Not the greatest for cuddling, I’m afraid.”

            “You could take it off,” she remarks casually, casting a shy smile in his direction and watching the red spread from his ears across his entire face.

            “Right! I could- I, uhm… I’m just going to… stand over here now.” He scrambles upright, marching away to stand near Bodahn’s cart. Rose watches him go, grinning slightly.

           

As they approach the small village, Alistair stops the group, looking a little nervous. “Uhm,” he says, and then falls quiet, wringing his hands together. “Look, can we talk for a moment?”

            “What’s on your mind, Alistair?” Rose asks kindly.

            “Yeah, out with it.” Tori grins and nudges him.

            “I need to tell you something I, ah, probably should have told you earlier.”

            “Are we going to like this?” Her grin fades a little and she knots her eyebrows together. Alistair sounds worried, and she doesn’t like _that_ one bit.

            “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I doubt it. I’ve never liked it, that’s for sure.” He runs a hand through his short hair, ducking his head. “I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?”

            Tori and Rose nod in unison, and Wynne hums behind them.

            “The reason he did that was because...” He looks away nervously. “Well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my... Half-brother, I suppose.”

            Rose gasps softly, while Tori’s grin returns. “So… you’re not just a bastard…” She can see Rose closing her eyes in regret, and quickly continues, “but a _royal_ bastard?”

            Alistair laughs, recovering from his nerves. “Well, if you put it like that… I need to use that line more.”

            “Why did you keep it from us? Seems important,” Rose remarks, punching Tori in the shoulder. She yelps and sends the mage an insulted look.

            “I would have told you, but… It never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule and so they kept me secret. I’ve never talked about it to anyone.” He sighs and averts his gaze again. “Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t want you to know, as long as possible.” He looks back up, guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

            “I understand.” Rose smiles and pats him on the arm.

            “Hiding anything else we gotta know?” Tori asks with a smirk.

            “Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That’s it. Just the prince thing.”

 

When they get to Redcliffe, it turns out the situation is a little bit more complex than just a sick Arl. They are sent to the Chantry, to meet with Bann Teagan and discuss what’s wrong.

            “I remember you, Bann Teagan,” Alistair says when introductions are made. “Only I was much younger, and… covered in mud.” Tori suppresses a snort at his sheepish expression. Very princely indeed.

            “Covered in mud?” Teagan’s face goes from perplexed to realisation, and then a smile creeps across it. “Alistair! It is you, isn’t it? You’re alive! This is wonderful news.”

            “Still alive, yes, though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.”

            Teagan nods grimly. “Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things.”

            “You don’t believe Loghain’s lies?” Tori questions, relieved. At least they have this man on their side. He snorts and rolls his eyes.

            “What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don’t believe it.” Yep, she likes this dude. “It is an act of a desperate man. So…” He looks her over. “You are a Grey Warden as well? A pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

            “My name is Tori Tabris, and this is Rose Amell. We’re the newest recruits. Our other member is otherwise occupied in search of support for the Wardens.” She keeps her shoulders straight, hoping she comes off as polite enough. Her previous… encounters with nobility never did end well. The last one ended in blood.

            “You’re here to see my brother?” Teagan asks, glancing at Alistair. “Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts.” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil… things… surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault.”

            “Evil things? Can you elaborate?” Rose has her hands folded in front of her body.

            “Some call them the walking dead; decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh…” What’s wrong, is, apparently, zombies. That’s cool. That does not bother Tori at all. Teagan shudders briefly, clenching his eyes shut. “They hit again the next night. Each night they come, with greater numbers.”

Yeah, probably bolstered by those they kill. Darkspawn, they can handle, abominations were pretty awful, but now there’s walking corpses they have to deal with? Tori sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She never imagined being a Warden would involve this much hassle. She looks at Teagan, who looks downright miserable.

“With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight’s assault will be the worst yet.” He looks at Alistair again. “Alistair, I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends.”

            “It isn’t just up to me.” Alistair looks around, at Tori and Rose, and then at Leliana and Wynne, in the back. “Though the Grey Wardens don’t stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon.”

            “Of course we’ll help!” Tori exclaims, trying to bite back to creeping sense of horror. Rose voices her agreement beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

            “If there’s a chance to rescue the Arl, we have to try.”

            “Thank you!” Hope dawns on the Bann’s face. “Thank you, this… means more than me than you can guess.” He takes a deep breath. “Now, then. There is much to do before night falls. I’ve put two men in charge of the defence outside.” He gestures outwards. “Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the Chantry. Ser Perth, one of Eamon’s knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You may discuss with them the preparations for the coming battle.”

 

While Tori heads with Alistair and Leliana into the town to deal with preparations, setting up traps for the undead and discuss with the mayor and Ser Perth, Wynne and Rose remain in the Chantry. The elder mage immediately begins to cure injuries, tending to anyone who has been wounded by previous battles against the evil, and Rose follows her around tentatively.

            “I’ve never been one for healing,” she admits eventually, watching as Wynne expertly sets and fixes a broken arm. The Senior Enchanter looks up at her with a small smile.

            “It’s never too late to learn, my dear.”

            Rose looks around, at crying children and worrying mothers, at injured soldiers, and sets her face into a steely expression. “Teach me.”

 

While Alistair carries vats of oil towards the path to the castle, preparing a fire-based trap, Tori falls into step with Leliana. She’s never really talked to the former lay sister much, but the way the redhead sings under her breath catches her attention. It brings up memories of evenings in the Alienage, singing with her cousins, and then later, when she got too self-conscious to, by herself in her room.

            It reminds her of something she had heard Leliana mention, in one of the nights spent in a tavern with the group. “You were a travelling minstrel, before you came to the Chantry, right?”

            “Before I came to Ferelden, yes.” Leliana smiles at her, but it’s guarded, which is enough motivation for Tori to ask her follow-up question.

            “I heard that in Orlais, minstrels are often spies?”

            She starts, eyes narrowing just a little. “Where did you hear this?”

            “I can read.” Tori crosses her arms. “I read a book, is all.”

            “And you did not think this could be historical fact, and no longer true?” She laughs briefly. “Not all minstrels are spies, most are just singers and storytellers. But some of them are… are what we call bards.”

            “And the bards are spies?”

            “Bards are minstrels, and more. Spies, as you say. Some say there is a bard order, but I don’t think this is true. Many bards work alone, or in small groups, doing the bidding of a patron who pays for their services. If there is an organisation behind it all, no one knows who they are.”

            “What sort of patron?”

            “Nobles, mostly. In Orlais there is much rivalry amongst the high-born. They fight over land, influence, and the favour of the empress. But they cannot do this openly, because it is impolite, and in public they wear smiling faces and pretend to be civil. In secret, they plot and scheme to destroy each other. It is a game completely meaningless to anyone but its players.”

            “And you were a bard.” Tori looks at her, taking in the resigned look on her face. “Weren’t you?”

            “I have revealed too much, it seems.” Leliana sighs. “But it doesn’t matter what I used to be. It is in the past.”

            Tori nods, uncrossing her arms. “I understand. I was just wondering… if you could teach me.”

            “To be a bard?” Surprise crosses her face, and then a smile follows. “There’s an idea. I’ve watched you, and I do think you’d find some of my skills quite easy to pick up.”

            Tori grins. “Maybe we’ll sing together sometime, minstrel.”

 

By nightfall, every capable body stands ready to defend the town. The Wardens and company have installed themselves on the hill next to the mill, ready to catch the first waves as they come. Slowly, they descend down the path, shambling, stumbling, until –

            _WHAM!_ The trap is sprung, and the path lights up in a streak of fire. Cheers go up, but quickly die down as the first of the zombies come shambling out of the flames, clearly damaged but still going. Under Ser Perth’s instructions, they stay back, letting the things come at them instead of braving into the fire itself, and cut down the monsters before they can make it down towards the village.

            The last stragglers come, and are dealt with. For a moment, there is quiet, and then screams start rising up from below. Alistair jerks his head, looking at Tori and Rose, who nod.

            “More of them,” Ser Perth says in alarm.

            “Stay here,” Tori says, already moving down the path. “Come on, move!”

 

In a rough circle around the fire, the defenders of the village stand, an outer ring of warriors defending a small inner circle of archers and Rose and Wynne, staves sending out blasts of arcane energy, corpses exploding at their will, wounds closing up to keep them going. Tori ducks and weaves through the enemy lines, cutting hamstrings, kicking up dirt, taking out at least ten of them by herself.

            Slowly, the waves of undead start to slow, and thin, and lessen. Rose paralyses one of them for mayor Murdock to cut its head off, and then the man looks around slowly.

            “Is that… all of them?” Rose asks, blinking against the sweat dripping from her brow.

            Slowly, excited murmurs start to rise from the crowd. Then a cheer goes up, a prayer, a “Thank the Maker”, and the villagers start to disperse, falling into each other’s arms, searching for a loved one in the ruckus. Alistair and Tori each take one side of the town, scouting out stragglers, but it soon becomes apparent that the evil has been taken down, at least for right now.

            The sun slowly starts to rise over the lake as dawn breaks the tense atmosphere of battle.


	16. Sorrows

“Lux Mahariel. You live.” Zathrian opens his arms wide, a warm smile on his face.

            “As do you, Keeper.” Lux bows respectfully.

            Mithra looks at them with eager eyes. “And the others? Halanel, Durwen?”

            They turn their head to look at the hunter, lowering their eyes. “ _Ir abelas,_ _lethallan_. They did not survive. I only barely got away myself, and if it was not for Duncan…”

            “Duncan?” The Keeper sounds confused. They return their gaze towards him, their arms behind their back.

            “The Warden Commander of Ferelden. He saved me from darkspawn that would surely have killed me.”

            Zathrian frowns. “That is… good, but I do not understand why you did not return to us immediately after. The clan…”

            “Keeper, I would have had I been able to.” They straighten their shoulders, not able to look him in the eyes for long. “The darkspawn had tainted me.”

            “And the Grey Warden healed you?” Zathrian sounds sceptical, but they quickly shake their head.

            “No. Or, well, yes. I- can we sit down and discuss this? I apologise for intruding, and bringing outsiders into our clan uninvited, but there are grave matters we must speak of.”

            “Like the curse that still haunts our clan, _da’len_? Mithra, return to your post.” The hunter starts, then nods and walks away. Lux ducks their head again, embarrassed. Being lectured by their Keeper is one thing, but in front of their friends… Zathrian sighs, and shakes his head. “Come. I suppose we can discuss this by a fire, at least. Introduce me to your companions in the meantime.” He walks towards one of the roaring fires, motioning for them to sit down.

            As Lux sits, they gesture at each of their friends. “This is Morrigan, a skilled witch. Her mother saved us before, and sent her daughter with us for protection.” Morrigan scoffs, but sits on one of the logs. “This is Sten, a Qunari soldier who has agreed to following us, aiding our quest.” Sten grunts, and nods. “This is Zevran, a… skilled fighter from Antiva. Oh, and this is Falon, of course.” Falon, lying down at their feet, barks once, and they smile.

            Zathrian sits opposite them, considering each of their companions closely. “You have a strange array of friends, _da’len_.”

            “I am aware. My fellow Wardens and companions are in Redcliffe, right now; we decided splitting up would be the best option. Keeper, I… is it still that bad?”

            He nods gravely, motioning behind him. They can just see the edge of the sick bay peeking out from an aravel. “It has only gotten worse since. But perhaps…” He looks around the group again, eyes narrowed. “You seem to have a skilled set of companions, and you know the forest quite well. Perhaps you could help us.”

            “In return for your help with the Blight?” At his nod, they continue. “We could do that.”

            “Are you intent on helping all minorities in Ferelden before we take down the archdemon?” Sten rumbles, not pleased. They look at him sharply.

            “This is my family. Would you not have wanted to help your brethren, if they were in need?” He grunts, and they look back at Zathrian. “What do we need to do, Keeper? Is there a cure?”

            “What is this illness that plagues this camp?” Morrigan questions. Lux winces.

            “It is… horrid. More monsters than men, these… werewolves have attacked our clan, killing our members or, if they survive, turning them. They are feral, awful things.”

            “Werewolves, you say?” Zevran’s eyebrows raise. “Now that sounds exciting.”

            “For this curse to be lifted,” Zathrian says, “you must travel to the heart of the forest, and slay the one they call Witherfang. It is the leader of this pack of monsters. Bring me his heart, and I will be able to cure our people and destroy the curse once and for all.”

            “Why have you not done it?” Zevran asks accusingly. Lux elbows him in the ribs with a glare. He shrugs, and continues, “Seems like, if it was so easy, surely you could have accomplished it by now, no?”

            “Our numbers thin each day. It is too dangerous for our hunters. And I am needed, here, in the camp, or I would go myself. Grey Wardens, however… I believe you could do it. You of all, Lux.” They feel his warm stare upon them, and a smile finds its way to their face again. The Keeper trusts in them. That’s all that matters.

            “It will be done, Keeper.” They look at the sky, which is growing dark. “We can head out by morning. Can you…”

            “Sleeping arrangements will be made available for you and your companions. Now, I ask you to explain how exactly you ended up becoming a Grey Warden.”

            “So, it started when I was being chased by a hurlock…”

 

“Morrigan, before I forget.” They slide onto the log next to her, looking around before digging into their pack. Their other companions are off exploring the camp, and Zathrian has left them to their own devices. They can see Zevran in the distance bartering with Varathorn, and reason he might be busy for a while. They take out the black tome, offering it to her.

            Morrigan’s eyes widen. “You found Flemeth’s grimoire? I- when?”

            “It was in Irving’s office. I just happened to be the one inspecting his desk, and this was inside.”

            She looks at them, before staring down at the book. “When I spoke of it to you, I did not truly hope…” She smiles faintly, stroking the cover. “Ah, but this is most fortuitous. You have my thanks,” she says, glancing up again. “I will begin study of the tome immediately.”

            “What do you hope to find in it?” They had not opened the book themselves, too afraid of the consequences. Flemeth is a powerful woman, and they prefer not to challenge that sort of power.

            “Secrets. My mother has many of them, and this tome represents the one time that they were able to get away from her. I do not intend to squander this opportunity to learn more than Flemeth wished me to know. This should be...” She opens the book eagerly. “Interesting.”

            “Do let me know if anything useful catches your eye.” They get up, leaving Morrigan to their reading. They have not walked through most of the camp yet, afraid to face anyone, but they figure they have to, eventually.

            “Join me?” they ask Zevran, who is just slinking away from the merchant, looking disappointed. He brightens up when he sees them, offering them his arm.

            “But of course. Us fellow elves must stick together, no?”

            They laugh, and pull him off to another fire, where they see the familiar face of Sarel. When the man sees them approach, his eyes light up and he beckons them closer.

            “ _Da’len_ , it is so good to see you. Come, sit, tell us of your stories.”

            “I am afraid I could never tell them as well as you could, _hahren_ ,” they laugh, bowing their head. “Perhaps I could write them down for you to tell the clan, later.” They step into his arms, embracing him, their head resting on his chest for a moment. “I heard about your loss,” they murmur. “I am so sorry…”

            “So am I, _da’len_. As I am about yours.” As they pull away, he looks down on them with pity in his eyes. “Durwen and you…” He then seems to notice Zevran and clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “Ah, and then this must be one of your companions. Is he also a Warden?”

            Lux gives him a watery smile, stepping back. “He is not. This is Zevran, he has recently joined our group to aid in stopping the Blight. Zevran, this is _hahren_ Sarel, our clan’s elder and storyteller.”

            “ _Andaran atish’an,_ Zevran.” Sarel respectfully bows his head, and Zevran copies the movement.

            “Well met, elder. Any friend of Lux’s is a friend of mine.” He smiles brilliantly. “If you ever need more stories to tell, I possess plenty.”

            “Dirty ones,” Lux mutters, elbowing him.

            “ _Especially_ dirty ones.”

            “I think I’ll manage.” Sarel smiles weakly. “Ah, but if you wish to help someone, perhaps you could go find Elora. She has been having some trouble with the halla…”

            And so they cross the camp, to the back of it, where Elora keeps the halla. One of the animals is standing apart from the rest of the group, which catches Lux’s attention.

            “What is wrong with it?”

            The female elf startles, looking at them with wide eyes. “ _Aneth ara!_ My apologies, I did not see you coming- Lux? You have returned?”

            “It is good to see you again, Elora.” They step forwards to embrace their fellow mage with a smile. “You have separated her from the herd, why?”

            “I fear she may have been bitten during the werewolf attack. I have tried speaking with her, but she is too agitated for me to understand. The curse would not affect her as it would us, but it would still be lethal. And it may prove contagious to the other halla as well. I can find no wound on her, but if she’s truly ill, then…” She trails off with a sigh. “Then I will have to put her out of her misery. For her sake as well as that of the others.”

            “Is there anything I can do to help?” They never have been close to the halla, but it is good to see one again, nonetheless.

            “I don’t know. Perhaps you could try to calm her down so I can speak to her…”

            Lux nods, gently extending a hand to the halla. When it accepts their smell, they pet it on the nose, bending forwards and murmuring to it soothingly in Elvish.

            Elora gasps with a smile. “Yes… that’s it. She’s calming down! That’s it, love. Be calm. Tell me what troubles you…” She bends in closer, pressing her ear to the halla’s throat while Lux keeps murmuring to it softly. “Ah, I see,” Elora remarks, petting the halla. “It is her life-mate who is sick, not her. He was bitten on the leg during the attack and she fears greatly for him. I did not realise another halla was injured.” She sighs, but it is with acceptance in her eyes. “This will allow me to prevent the sickness from spreading to the entire herd. _Ma serannas_ , you have helped us tremendously.” She pulls away, taking Lux’s hands in her own. “I have missed you, _lethallen_.”

            “As I have you.” Lux sighs, pressing their nose to the halla’s head. “I have missed you all. Even you, my halla friend…”

            As Elora walks off to tend to the rest of the herd, Zevran chuckles beside them, reminding them of his existence. They step back, ears flushing. “Apologies, I simply…”

            “No need to apologise, my friend. I thought it was rather endearing.” He inches closer. “May I?” he asks, extending a hand. Lux nods, putting out a hand themselves to pet the halla again. Zevran lets the animal sniff him, then softly pets its neck. “It is rather soft, isn’t it? Not like a horse at all.”

            “Halla are very intelligent and independent creatures, and will be sorely offended when compared to a horse.” They smirk at him. “Watch your words.”

            “My apologies to you, halla.” Zevran makes a slight bow. “I never wished to offend you. You are much softer than any horse I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

            “Come on, before you get trampled.” They take Zevran by the arm and lead him away with a smile.

            “So, this is your home?” he asks, looking around. “You must miss it a great deal.”

            “I do,” they admit with a sigh. “Being back here… it brings back memories. Not all pleasant ones.”

            “Your Keeper, he mentioned other friends of yours. Ones that didn’t make it back.” He stops near one of the fires again, looking at them curiously. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            “Not particularly.” They sink down on a log, staring into the fire. “But I suppose I should. Deal with the grief and all that.” They pull a face, leaning into him slightly as he comes to sit next to them.

            “Highly overrated, I assure you. But, if you wish to share…”

            Lux sighs, and nods. “It was when our clan was first attacked by the werewolves. We had just settled in this forest, and they had come, viciously tearing into our clan, wounding many. We had just barely recovered, and our Keeper sent me, his First, out into the forest with two of our best hunters, Durwen and Halanel.” Pronouncing the names hurts, a fresh pang of pain in the heart. “He had instructed us to scout the surroundings, perhaps finding a place better suited to our camp, or something to ward off the wolves…” They trail off for a moment, frowning. “That is when we came across the darkspawn.”

            “Did the darkspawn not originate in the Korcari Wilds? That is what I had heard.”

            Lux nods. “They did. We still do not know what had made this group come so far from the rest of the horde. We were close to some ruins; perhaps they had hidden in there. But we were woefully unprepared, and unable to deal with such a large number of them.” They swallow hard. “Halanel was the first to fall, torn into shreds by the beasts. Durwen and I ran, and ran, but they were too many, too fast for even our quick feet. They fell down on Durwen first. I wanted to run to him, to help, but he yelled at me to run, to escape, to warn the others. And so I did.” They don’t notice their fists are clenched until Zevran takes their hands in his, massaging them until they open.

            “He sacrificed himself for you. That is not a deed taken lightly.”

            “It was in vain. One of the hurlocks broke away, chased me down. It got me.” They pull their hands away, pulling up their garments to show a nasty wound in their side. It has an oddly dark, almost black colour around the edges. “I would have died in that forest if it had not been for Duncan happening upon me. I should have stayed, helped him.”

            “Then you would both be dead. You are here now, no? His sacrifice was not in vain.” He softly touches her chin, her cheek. “You can avenge him, now.”

            “And I will.” They take a deep breath, turning their head away so they can wipe at their face. “ _Ma serannas_ , Zevran. Talking to someone was good.”

            “I am always here if you wish to talk. Be it about your grief, your dirty fantasies…”

            They grin, and push him. “You wish, Antivan.”

            “I do indeed, Dalish. I do indeed.”


	17. Reconnect

Teagan stands atop the steps of the Chantry, addressing the crowd of villagers before him. “Dawn arrives, my friends, and we remain.” He raises his arms wide. “We are victorious!” Cheers go up, and he waits for them to die down before he gestures at the Wardens, standing next to him. “And it is these good folk beside me that we have to thank for our lives today. Without their heroism, surely we would all have perished.” He gives them a respectful bow. “I bow to you, noble sers. The Maker smiled on us when he sent you here in our darkest hour.”

            “Thank you, Bann Teagan,” Tori says, bowing back slightly. “We are honoured.”

            As a woman from the Chantry begins praying for those that have fallen, Tori fidgets restlessly. She’s never been one for religion; if the Maker truly existed, would he just ignore the plight of those that needed him all this time? Bullshit. However, she looks around to see that her companions all have their head bowed in respect, and quickly does the same.

            She finishes, and Teagan speaks up once again. “With the Maker’s favour, the blow we delivered today is enough for me to enter the castle and seek our your arl. Be wary and watch for signs of renewed attack. We shall return with news as soon as we are able.” He turns back to the Wardens, and lowers his voice. “Now, we’ve no time to waste. Meet me at the mill. We can talk further there.”

 

“Odd, how quiet the castle looks from here,” Teagan remarks, staring up at the hill. “You would think there was nobody inside at all.” He sighs. “But I shouldn’t delay things further. I had a plan… to enter the castle after the village was secure.” He fumbles with something in his hands. “There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family.”

            “Convenient,” Tori says with a scoff.

            “Perhaps I should have gone into the castle earlier,” he admits. “But I could not leave the villagers- Maker’s breath!” He turns sharply towards the path, where a few shapes become visible. Tori draws her swords, and a few others of her party follow suit, but Teagan holds up a hand for them to stand down.

            “Teagan!” the woman in front calls out, her voice thick with a posh accent. “Thank the Maker you yet live!” Alistair gasps beside her and sheaths his weapon.

            Teagan steps forwards and blinks, confused. “Isolde! You’re alive! How did you… what has happened?” Isolde. Not a name she immediately recognises, but she looks regal. Is this the arlessa, the young woman from Orlais Alistair mentioned in his story?

            She speaks rushed, eyes wide. “I do not have much time to explain! I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly. And I…” She glances briefly over at the rest, then looks back at Teagan, voice firm. “I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone.”

            “We will need more of an explanation than that,” Tori says, sheathing her swords again.

            Isolde looks at her with a frown. “What? I… Who is this woman, Teagan?”

            Alistair sighs and steps forwards. “You remember me, lady Isolde, don’t you?”

            Her scowl deepens. “Alistair? Of all the… why are you here?”

            Teagan senses the dissent building in the group, and quickly steps between them. “They are Grey Wardens, Isolde. I owe them my life,” he says patiently.

            Isolde nods, straightening out her face. “Pardon me. I… I would exchange pleasantries, but…” Her eyes glance back at the castle. “Considering the circumstances…”

            “Please, Isolde,” Teagan presses. “We had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers!”

            She shakes her head, looking down at her hands. “I know you need more of an explanation, but I… don’t know what is safe to tell. Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues.” Her eyes fill up with tears. “And I think… Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won’t flee the castle.” She sobs quietly. “He has seen so much death! You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle, you could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!”

            “Do you think this ‘evil’ could be some kind of demon?” Rose asks carefully. Tori scoffs. Of course. Mages and demons. Like they haven’t seen that enough yet.

            Isolde’s face goes stark white, and she starts trembling slightly. “I… I do not know. Oh, Maker’s mercy, could it truly be a demon? I can’t let it hurt my Connor! You must come back with me, Teagan! Please!” She grabs at the man’s arm desperately.

            “What about that mage you mentioned?” Tori asks, not having patience for her whining.

            “He is an… infiltrator, I think – one of the castle staff. We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill.”

            Teagan frowns. “Eamon was poisoned?”

            Isolde’s scowl deepens again. “He claims an agent of Teyrn Loghain’s hired him. He may be lying, however, I cannot say.”

            “Sounds like someone the sneaky bastard would do,” Tori remarks quietly. “Why does Teagan have to come alone?” Isolde sounds way too nervous, too desperate. She’s hiding something.

            “For Connor’s sake, I promised I would return quickly and only with Teagan.”

            “Promised?” Teagan asks with a frown. “Whom did you promise?”

            “Something the mage unleashed. So far it allowed Eamon, Connor, and myself to live. The others… were not so fortunate.” Her face contorts. “It’s killed so many, and turned their bodies into walking nightmares! Once it was done with the castle, it struck the village!” Ah, so the corpses they shivved that night had been the unfortunate souls in the castle. Tori finds herself not caring all that much. Stupid nobles locked up in their fancy palace. Serves them right. Isolde keeps on wailing, a hand clutched to her chest. “It wants us to live, but I do not know why. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help.”

            Rose sighs. “Enough questions. We need to decide what to do.” She looks at Teagan, who nods back.

            “The king is dead, and we need my brother now more than ever. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde.”

            Isolde nearly collapses with the weight of her relief. Teagan motions them over to the mill, confiding in them the locations of the secret passage, and handing Rose the signet ring to open it. Then he’s off, joining Isolde at the bridge.

 

“So, you think this is the work of some demons?” Tori asks, nudging Rose as they head down the passage.

            “It could be,” she says, frowning. “The mage Isolde spoke of could have summoned them. Or maybe the Veil has been thinned enough for them to cross over…”

            “Alright. How do we fix this? Kill the demon?”

            “Most likely.”

            “It would be the course of action most likely to succeed, yes,” Wynne agrees. “We must tread with care, however. There is a good chance others are under the demon’s mind control, and will attack us.”

            “I can do killing demons and possessed nobles, don’t worry.” Tori smirks and taps the swords at her back. “Compared to the Circle adventure we just had? Piece of cake.”

            They enter a storage room, where some corpses shamble up at them. Alistair and Tori deal with them easily, allowing them to proceed into what seems like a dungeon.

            “Get away from me!” a voice yells from one of the cells. Rose stiffens, but before she can react, Tori raises an eyebrow at her and charges ahead to deal with the corpses trying to get through the door.

            “Hello?” the voice calls out again, cautiously. “Who is it? Have you come to kill me?”

            Rose pushes past, shoving Tori almost into the bars as she looks inside. Sunken-in eyes stare back at her, lighting with recognition.

            “By all that’s holy… you! I can’t believe it…”

            “Jowan?” She grasps at the bars, trying to get her face closer to him. He looks like he’s been put through a grinder, bruised and battered, dried blood caking his skin. What has become of her friend? “What have they done to you?”

            Jowan hangs his head. “What they’d do to all traitors, and would-be assassins. I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent you to finish me off.”

            “This the mage lady Woe-Is-Me was talking about? The one that poisoned Eamon and summoned demons and shit?” Tori, standing next to her, peers into the cell as well. “He looks like a wimp.”

            “Please,” Jowan gasps. “I know how it seems. Poisoning the arl was… a terrible thing. But I’m not behind everything else happening here, I swear!”

            “Still a murderer,” she mutters, and pulls away. Rose rolls her eyes and looks straight at Jowan. Waiting.

            “Before I say anything else,” he murmurs, “I need to ask you a question. You can do whatever you feel you need to afterward, but I need to know…” He sighs, looking back down. “What became of Lily? They didn’t hurt her, did they? The thought that she might have paid for my crime…”

            She doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, about Aeonar. “The Chantry sent her away, I don’t know where… I’m sorry.”

            “Oh, my poor Lily… She must hate me now, if she even lives. What have I done? What happens now?”

            “Jowan, what _happened_? What is going on?”

            “I… I know it looks suspicious, but I’m not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began. At first, lady Isolde came here with her men, demanding I reverse what I’d done.” He shakes his head. “I thought she meant my poisoning of the arl. That’s the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I’d summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe.”

            “And who’s to say you didn’t?” Tori mutters suspiciously.

            “She… had me tortured,” Jowan says, wincing. “There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So they… left me to rot.”

            “And why did you poison the arl, huh?” Tori pushes forwards again, crossing her arms.

            “I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain. I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him Loghain would settle matters with the Circle.” He looks from her, to Rose. “All I wanted was to be able to return…”

            “You did say it would be just up Loghain’s alley to do such a thing,” Rose remarks soberly. Tori shrugs and scoffs.

            “But he abandoned me here, didn’t he?” Jowan mutters, clenching his fists. “Everything’s fallen apart. I never thought it would end like this! Maker, I’ve made so many mistakes…” He chokes up momentarily. “I disappointed so many people… I wish I could go back and fix it. I just want to make everything right again.”

            “Why did Loghain hire _you_ to poison the arl?” Rose asks, confused. An apostate on the run is an odd choice for an assassination.

            “Connor had started to show…” He shrugs. “Signs. Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Magi would take him away for training.”

            Alistair gasps. “Connor? A mage? I can’t believe it!”

            Jowan nods. “She sought an apostate, a mage outside the Circle, to teach her son in secret, so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea.”

            “And now the son is summoning demons,” Tori concludes with a scowl. “That’s what happens when you let mages roam free…”

            “Connor has little knowledge of magic,” he mutters, “but he may have done something to tear open the Veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses.”

            “I understand,” Rose says quietly.

            Jowan hangs his head. “The arl’s a decent man. I wondered how he could possibly be the threat Loghain said he was, but I did it anyway. I’m such a fool.”

            “You are,” she agrees fondly. “But you did what you thought was the right thing.”

            “He did it to save his own hide,” Tori says with a sneer.

            “I’m just sick of running away and hiding from what I’ve done. I’m going to try and fix it, any way I can.” He looks up at Rose, reaching out a hand to place on her arm. “We were friends once. I know I don’t deserve to call you that, after what I did… If it ever meant anything, please…” He swallows, hard. “Help me fix this.”

            She looks back at the group, knowing most will not agree with her decision, then shaking her head and putting a hand on the door. “I’m letting you out of your cell.”

            “You’re mad,” Tori says, eyes wide and a hand on her sword. “He’s an apostate. A murderer.”

            “From what I’ve gathered from when we first met, you’ve murdered your share of people. Besides, Eamon isn’t dead yet. We can still make this right.” She fixes the elf with a hard stare, then opens the door, a healing spell on her lips to cure him of the worst of his wounds. Faintly, behind her, she can hear Tori mutter to Alistair, but she ignores it in favour of tending to Jowan. Then, she steps back. “Escape. Now. Better yourself.”

            “I’m not leaving,” he says with a frown. “I made a mistake, and I’m going to find some way to fix it.”

            “Jowan.” She puts her hands on his shoulders, then pulls him in for a hug. “We’ll meet again.”

            As the mage leaves through the tunnel, Alistair shrugs and sighs. “I really hope we don’t end up regretting that.”


	18. The Curse

They set out into the forest by dawn. They have gathered up a few more tasks in the meantime; Varathorn has asked them to gather some ironbark, and Athras, a man Lux has talked to only a few times before, has tearfully requested they find his wife, should they be able to.

            They encounter a few pockets of darkspawn along the outskirts, along with a group of three bears that attack them as they draw near. It’s not the first time they have dealt with the big predators, however, and paralysing and taking them out is not that hard. As they consider relieving the bears of their pelts, track catch their eye, and they crouch down. They might not have been trained as a hunter, but they’ve joined enough hunts to be able to follow them with ease. Falon helps, sniffing out a scent and bounding in front of them.

            In a make-shift shelter, they find a Dalish man, a hunter by the looks of him. They rush over, the rest of their party following close behind.

            “Why is Wynne with the other group,” they mutter, digging bandages out of their pouch. Morrigan sighs and pushes them aside, hands sparking with healing magic.

            “I know only the most basics, but surely it will help better than your feverish scrambling around,” she says with a roll of her eyes. Lux smiles at her and crouches down beside the man, who opens his eyes slowly.

            “What? Who… wh-who comes?”

            “You are badly wounded. What happened to you?” They pull back to let Morrigan do her work more efficiently, packing up their supplies again.

            “We were sent to find Witherfang… Bring his heart…” His words come out in ragged gasps and pants. “Attacked… I…” His eyes roll back again, too exhausted or injured to stay conscious.

            “We need to return him to the Dalish camp. If he dies, let it be with his people, at least,” Lux reasons.

            “He will turn into a violent monster, or die. I see no reason to waste time on him,” Morrigan replies. However, she lets Lux bend down and hoist him up by the elbows.

            “Help?” they murmur, and Sten grabs the man’s legs, before moving down his body and hoisting him onto his shoulder entirely. “That works.”

 

Mithra and some other hunters they don’t know names of meet them halfway, and take the unconscious man from them, allowing them to go back into the forest. As they walk, Lux looks back at the rest of the group.

            “I should warn you. This forest is not easy to navigate. Besides the werewolves and the darkspawn that now roam here, there is plenty of other dangers around. There is a reason we never liked to stay here long. No clan does.”

            “I’m sure we can take whatever these woods throw at us, no?” Zevran smirks and twirls a dagger between his fingers. “You all seem like very capable people.”

            “What are these dangers you speak of, then?” Sten looks unbothered by their explanation.

            “Well,” they murmur, glancing around, “walking trees is one of them.”

            “Excuse me?” Zevran looks at them incredulously now. They shoot him an innocent smile.

            “Exactly as I said. We call them sylvans, and they can be quite a bother. Durwen and I almost got trampled by one of them when we were… well. In any case, keep an eye out.”

 

Before they encounter any walking trees, however, they encounter their first group of werewolves. One of them straightens up, looking almost human if he weren’t hunched forwards, growling at them. Oh, and very hairy.

            “Hrr… The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters.” He snaps at Lux, who draws back slightly. “Another of the Dalish, come to put us in our place, come to make us pay for our attack.”

            “I would prefer to talk to you,” Lux replies, trying to keep their voice from wavering. These are the beasts that hurt and killed so many of their people. But if they can be civil to these ones, save their strength for Witherfang…

            “Was it not Zathrian who sent you? Hrrr… He wishes only our destruction, never to talk!”

            “You talk of Zathrian as if you know him,” they state.

            “Hrr… We have never met, he and I. He would not survive the experience, I swear it.”

            “Why do you hate him so much? Hate us so much?” They clench their teeth together in frustration.

            “You know nothing, do you?” He growls at them. “Nothing of us, and even less of those you serve. You are a fool, and we are done talking. Run from the forest while you can. Run to the Dalish, and tell them they are doomed.”

            The wolves take off, back into the forest, and Lux is left seething, a hand clenched around their staff. Zevran puts a hand on their shoulder.

            “Do you wish for me to go after them?”

            “It is fine,” the mutter, shrugging him off. “Let’s continue.”

 

The next band of wolves they encounter are not as talkative. Lux lets loose their fury on them, fireball after fireball crashing down on the group until they are but embers. They slump, panting with exhaustion, looking back at their companions. “What?” they snap, irritated when they just stare. Then, Sten shakes his head and keeps walking.

            Lux follows, sighing when Zevran falls into step with them. “I, personally, thought that was rather… hot.”

            “Really.” Their tone feels flat, even to them, and they shake their head, frowning. “I apologise, I am not feeling very conversational right now.”

            “I’ll just have to make up for it then, no?”

            “Please, don’t,” Sten mutters, something that gets a laugh out of even Lux.

            “If we can all focus,” Morrigan interrupts, “there seems to be another beast up ahead.”

            They all tense, falling into a battle-stance, but it soon becomes apparent this werewolf is in no state to fight. Lux cautiously approaches, wary but curious.

            “P-please…” it whimpers. “Help…” It looks up, tearful eyes peering out at them. “Listen… I am not…” It whimpers again, as if in pain. Lux keeps their staff at the ready. “Not the mindless beast I appear to be…”

            “What happened to you?” they ask as realisation dawns on them. Is this one of theirs?

            “They… I am cursed, turned into this creature… The curse, it…” It whines in agony. “It burns me! I…” It looks over its shoulder. “Fled into the forest. The werewolves, they… took me in. But I had to return. I hate to!” It draws closer. They can feel the tensing behind them, swords being drawn. They put up a hand and crouch down.

            “Danyla, right?”

            The werewolf gasps. “You… you are the Keeper’s First! The clan… is still here?”

            “Zathrian is the one who sent us here,” they confirm.

            “The Keeper sent you? Then…” Danyla draws back with a wince. “You seek Witherfang.”

            Lux nods. “I will make this wolf pay for the crimes he has committed against the Dalish. I will cure you, all of you.”

            “I know why you seek him. But…” She moves closer, grasping at their arm. “There is no time to explain. You must listen… The scarf that I wear… Bring it to Athras.” She starts to undo it with shaking claws. “Tell him I love him. Tell him… I am dead and with the Gods. I beg you…”

            “You are in pain,” they mutter, taking the scarf from her. “Do you…”

            “Yes,” she gasps, grasping at them. “Please. End it for me. End it quickly!”

            They nod, and straighten. “Zevran,” they say softly. “Give me your sword.” The Antivan, for once, does not question, and does as they asked. They kneel down again, tears gathering in their eyes. “May Falon’din guide your way, lethallan,” they whisper. As the blade slices across her neck, they close their eyes, staying, knelt down, in silence for what feels like hours.

 

“You know, the walking trees, I could deal with,” Zevran remarks, rubbing at his eyes. “Talking is a different matter entirely.”

            Lux smiles faintly. “I think it is quite endearing. The poetry, I thought, would be up your alley, or am I wrong?”

            “I prefer poetry of the dirty kind, my dear.” He smirks lecherously, and they roll their eyes, pushing him.

            “Were it not for how attractive you be, I would have let you been trampled on by a tree,” they rhyme, crossing their arms. Zevran raises his eyebrows.

            “My, what a challenge you pose, but I fear your strength might lie more with prose.”

            “You dare mock these talents mine? I fear our tastes do not align.”

            “Oh, you are much cuter when you are mad; I just wanted to distract you from the sad.”

            Lux cackles and throws their head back. “The sad?”

            Zevran puts his hands up defensively. “I told you, improvisational poetry is not quite my thing!”

            “On the contrary, I think you should look into publishing a book.” They smile and knock their shoulders together. “Thank you for trying to distract me, Zevran. That is very kind of you. Now, let us go hunt down that acorn.”

 

They manage to barter the hermit out of its acorn in trade for a helmet they found in the forest somewhere. The man still seems off to them, but they decide not to press it for now, and lead the party back towards the old oak. On the way, they happen upon an abandoned campsite – it looks recently used, the coals still smouldering slightly.

            It’s very inviting. _Too_ inviting.

            “The fire… it wants us to stay…” Morrigan murmurs. She starts smoothing down a bedroll. Sten smothers a yawn behind his hand, and Zevran sets himself down upon a log.

            “Why are we making camp?” they manage to ask with a frown, blinking back an uneasy feeling. Something feels very, very wrong.

            “Come, join us. We can rest for the night,” Zevran says, stretching out a hand to them. They shake their head, stumbling back.

            “No. We need to leave. Now.”

            That is when the shade appears, the rest of their companions succumbing to sleep. They curse, launching an earthen fist at them. Their more destructive spells won’t work; they’re in too close proximity to their hapless friends. And so they lash out with short bursts of the elements, and then with their staff when the spirit draws too close.

            As the shade dissolves into ash, the rest slowly begins to awaken from their slumber. Lux sinks down onto a log, looking around; the campsite looks desolate now, cold and destroyed, the magic that drew them in dissipated.

            “Hmm… what?”

            They just roll their eyes, catching their breath as the rest looks around in confusion.

 

They find the Elder Oak again without further trouble, and return its seed to it. In return, it gifts them with a gnarled, knotted wooden staff and a promise this will lead them through the forest, to the lair of the wolves. They say goodbye to the tree, vowing to come back one day; the rest of their companions stare at them in confusion, but they just really, really like this poet of a tree.

            As they near the fallen ruins, another band of werewolves greets them. After a warning call, they surge forwards, attacking them viciously.

            Lux keeps one back with their new staff, cursing as the jaws snap down a little too close to their face for their liking. They send it back with a shockwave, slumping forwards with a pant.

            And that is when teeth clamp down on their arm, digging in deep. The wolf is torn away from them after a few seconds, but the wound leaves them staggering, biting back tears of pain.

            They have to keep fighting, protecting their allies, their left arm limp at their side. Then the group of wolves break, a large, white wolf leaping out from the back and landing in their midst. It’s not a werewolf, but it certainly isn’t a normal wolf either. The distraction gives the werewolves an opening to flee, and the white wolf snarls at them before retreating.

            Lux turns to their friends. “Witherfang?”

            “Definitely.”

            “Yes.”

            “Most likely.”

            “Fantastic.” They wince, prodding gingerly at their wound. “Let us go, then, quickly.”


	19. Dark Forces and Dangerous Dealings

Slowly, they make their way through the castle. They are met with quite a bit of opposition; looks like they didn’t end up killing everything in the village after all. They also manage to save a servant girl locked in a closet, and get her to escape through the tunnel.

            They enter the great hall to a most disturbing sight. Bann Teagan dances like a man possessed, rolling on the ground and doing handstands, all to the applause and laughter of a young boy standing next to Lady Isolde, who looks on in worry, wringing her hands. At their entrance, the boy turns to them, speaking with a voice that carries another layer, something deep and filled with malice.

            “So these are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?” Rose stiffens at its tone, and Tori looks at her curiously, before staring back at the boy.

            “Yes, Connor,” Isolde says softly, voice strained.

            “And these are the ones who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?”

            “Y-yes.”

            “And now it’s staring at me!” Connor looks straight at Tori, then at Isolde. “What is it Mother? I can’t see it well enough.”

            “This is an elf, Connor. You… you’ve seen elves, before. We have them here in the castle…” Isolde’s voice is pleading, speaking to him like she’s trying to reach something inside of him.

            “Oh, I remember!” Connor looks excitedly back at Tori. “I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs! The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?” She winces, and so does Tori. Charming.

            “C-Connor, I beg you, don’t hurt anyone!” Isolde stammers, wide-eyed.

            Connor’s entire demeanour changes. He slumps, and shakes his head. “M-Mother? What… what’s happening? Where am I?”

            Isolde gasps in relief. “Oh, thank the Maker! Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”

            “Get away from me, fool woman!” And the echo is back. Great. “You are beginning to bore me.”

            “He’s possessed,” Rose states, quietly. “An abomination.” Her tone is regretful. Tori racks her brain, trying to think back about what she knows about demons and abominations. It’s… a pitiful amount. However, she knows that those are the things they generally kill.

            And this is a little boy.

            The conversation goes on around her, Rose arguing with the little possessed boy, while Tori only stares, conflicted.

            “I came to help, if I could,” the mage says beside her, extending a hand cautiously.

            “To help me? To help Father? To help yourself? Which?” Connor raises an eyebrow curiously.

            “To help the people you’ve terrorised.”

            “I was just having fun!” Connor complains. “Everyone else had fun too! Are you having fun, Uncle?”

            Teagan grins and claps. “Marmalade!” he shouts.

            After a bit more back and forth, in which Isolde is terrified and Rose stands her ground, the abomination calls out and the guards charge, stuck under its command.

            “Don’t kill them!” Rose yells, her staff flaring up to trap Teagan in a force field.

            “I’ll try my fucking best,” Tori grits out, reversing her grip on her blades to knock the pommels into the back of a guard’s head.

            Fighting like this is exhausting, having to expend extra energy just to hold herself back from killing them, and the boy escapes in the chaos. Eventually, they manage to knock out all the guards, and while Rose and Wynne busy themselves with snapping them out of the hold they’ve been in, Tori and Alistair guard the doors.

            “You know the boy, right?” she asks, not looking at him.

            Alistair sighs and nods. “I do. He’s a sweet boy. He’d never hurt a fly if it wasn’t for the demon… controlling him.”

            “And you’re a templar. How do you guys generally deal with abominations?”

            The look on his face says enough. “There has to be another way,” he says softly. Tori bows her head, and hopes for the same.

 

The answer comes in the shape of a mage Tori really had not been hoping to see again. “Really?” she mutters when Jowan storms into the room, suggesting there’s indeed another way to save Connor. “Really?”

            Rose shushes her, looking at her friend with a faint smile. Isolde furiously protests, but Teagan, who has come back to himself thanks to the healing magics of their two mages, manages to calm her down in order for Jowan to present his solution.

            Isolde is all but ready to sacrifice herself, when Rose speaks up again cautiously. “Could we not do it with enough lyrium and mages?”

            Jowan looks at her curiously. “I… I suppose we could. We’d have to act quickly, though, and… wait, how do you even _know_ that?”

            Rose shrugs. “You’d have known if you had done the Harrowing,” she says. “You get sent into the Fade to do battle with a demon.”

            “Wait,” Tori says with a frown. “Isn’t that like, dangerous?” The last time they were in the Fade to battle a demon, that was pretty dang hard even with a full group of people.

            “It is, and it is also secret.” Wynne gives Rose a slightly admonishing look. “However, only apprentices that are believed to be capable enough are allowed to do their Harrowing. The test is not about the battle; it is about the mage’s willpower, their ability to resist the demon’s offer.” She smiles and puts a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “And we can certainly do it, now that you have saved so many. We would only have to travel to the Tower and back, and do it quickly. Irving will come, I am sure of it.”

            “Alistair, me and Leliana can stay while you two go,” Tori suggests with a shrug. “We can keep the abomination from killing anyone else, or possessing someone else.”

            “Can you?” Rose asks doubtfully, but sighs. “I suppose we will have to travel quickly. Teagan, can we access a boat?”

 

Alistair, Tori, and Leliana set up a guard schedule, watching over the door to Connor’s room. The castle guard slowly resumes its duties around them, but neither of them ever takes them up on the offer to take over a watch. They’ve all seen how easily they were manipulated; there’s no chance they’ll let those guys near the abomination.

            When Alistair relieves her of her watch, Tori heads back to the great hall to get some rest. She finds Leliana slumped in a chair, tuning her lyre, and settles at her feet, cross-legged. The woman looks down briefly and smiles, before returning to her work.

            Eventually, she speaks up. “You know, I have not met many elves in my life. I am… surprised, but pleased to see that most conceptions people have of your kin are false.”

            Tori hums. “What do ‘people’ think of me, then?”

            “That you are savages, snatching away women and children without provocation. Then again, these things are mostly said of the Dalish. You are… not Dalish, correct?”

            “Nope. Lux is. I don’t think they’re like that either, though.” Despite her original conceptions of the Dalish elf, they’ve grown considerably in her opinion.

            “I did not think so either. You know, I know humans and elves do not share a happy history, but peace must be possible.” She smiles, her voice earnest as she plucks at a string. “I hear many city folk talk about how wonderful it must be to live simpler lives, close to the earth. They could learn from the Dalish.”

            Tori scoffs. “I don’t think elves should be a quaint curiosity meant for study.”

            “I’m… sorry.” She at least has the grace to look embarrassed. “I did not mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to… belittle your culture. Or any of your kin’s. I have met very few elves, and those I have met were… pledged to the service of Orlesian nobles.”

            “Slaves.” She hisses the word through her teeth. Why did she think Leliana would be any different?

            “They are serfs. There is no slavery in Orlais.”

            Tori barks out a harsh laugh. “It’s the same thing.”

            “Elven servants are well-compensated for their services.” Leliana’s voice is wavering, uncertain. “Some of them live richer lives than humans. A well-trained elven servant is highly valued in Orlais. They are nimble and dexterous, and many people find them pleasing to look at.”

            “Like a prize-winning animal?”

            “No, I did not mean it that way!” She looks truly pained, her fingers unmoving on the strings. “My words were clumsily chosen. I did not mean to offend. I… I am sorry.”

            Tori gets up. “You may not be cruel, but you still see us differently.”

            “I… I did not realise that. It is so strange, how long-held beliefs just seem natural, and…” She sighs, bowing her head. “Right. Like there is no other way to feel. Thank you. You have given me a lot to think about.”

            Tori nods and walks away, shoulders slumped. Leliana is not the only one who has something to think about.

            Maybe they owe Lux an apology. If they don’t all get killed by an abomination first.

 

It takes Rose and Wynne three days to cross the lake from Redcliffe’s docks. They find the Circle tower busy with repairs, mages and templars running around, co-existing, mostly. Cullen, to her immense relief, is nowhere to be seen. Irving agrees to travel back with them, agreeing with her that if there is a chance to save Connor, they should do anything in their power.

            And so they travel back, the knowledge in the back of her mind that at any moment Connor could unleash his wrath upon the castle, her friends included. It makes her breathing quicken as they pass through the village, heading up the path to the castle.

            They are given a quiet, but relieved welcome. Isolde immediately rushes to them as they enter the hall. “I see you have returned. Connor is upstairs, and remains quiet, for the moment. Have you…”

            “We brought the mages. We’ll need a space to work.”

            “Of course. Anything.”

            Irving helps her set up the space, while the few templars that travelled with them set up guard around the room. Her fellow companions come to greet her, and then she looks at Irving.

            “It is ready,” he says. “Are you the one to be going into the Fade?”

            Rose considers her options. Wynne is no combat mage. Morrigan and Lux are not here… and she does not trust Jowan to deal with a demon. She looks up at Irving and nods firmly. “I will go.”

            “Good.” Irving smiles, an almost father-like look on his face. “Let us get the ritual underway, then.”

 

The Fade is still just as weird as the last two times she has traversed it, and still just as annoying. The next time anyone needs a person to go into the Fade for some reason or another, she is not sticking up her hand to volunteer.

            Another fake Connor sends her back, and attacks her when she refuses. She sighs heavily, blasting away shade after shade. Fortunately there are pulsing veins of lyrium nearby that she can draw energy from – she already feels drained and she hasn’t even found the demon yet.

            When she does, it is in the form of a beautiful, purple woman with long, curling horns. She floats slightly above the ground, a sultry smile on her face. “Now we meet face to face. No more illusions. You see my true form and stand in my domain.” She drifts slightly closer. “Perhaps we should converse, instead?”

            Rose huffs. “How about you leave, and I do not destroy you,” she says, keeping her voice low. Desire snarls, floating back.

            “You do not want what I offer? I assure you, it will be well worth your time.”

            A slow smile spreads across Rose’s face. “On the contrary, I believe you can offer more.”

            Desire cocks her head, looking at Rose curiously. Her tail slowly sweeps back and forth in the air. “I will deal with you, human. Tell me of your desire.”

            “I want arcane secrets. Specialised blood magic, to be more specific.” When Desire opens her mouth, she holds up a hand. “However, you teach me, then you leave. Forever. You will not touch Connor.”

            Desire studies her face, blanching. “You…”

            Rose lets energy seep off her form, her hair puffing up like a thundercloud. “I could also simply destroy you here, where you stand. Turn back now, go back into the Fade and leave the boy be, and you are allowed to live.”

            Desire slumps slightly, and nods. “A deal is made. Knowledge in trade for my safe retreat.”

            Rose’s smile returns once more. “A fine offer. I accept.”


	20. Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deepest apologies for this late chapter, my weekend was incredibly busy with two D&D sessions and i just didnt have the time or energy. ill probably upload another chapter tonight to make up for it though!

“These are elven ruins,” Lux remarks quietly as they approach the crumbling stone buildings. “They must be old… very old. Keep an eye out, all of you.”

            “Yet, they look to be Tevinter in origin as well. How odd,” Morrigan remarks with a frown. Zevran hums.

            “It seems that elves once lived with the Tevinter humans? Or the Tevinter built this place for them? I never heard of such a thing.”

            “Just keep an eye out,” Lux mutters, walking ahead.

 

A small, ghostly child whimpers in the centre of the room. Lux cautiously approaches, muttering soothing phrases in elven.

            “ _Mamae!_ ” the child yells. “ _Mamae!_ _Mamae! Mamae, se vara sal!_ ” It runs off screaming, and they sigh, shaking their head.

            “What was it saying?” Zevran asks.

            “He was lost,” they answer quietly. “Looking for his mother. Come, we shall follow.”

            As they walk forwards, they stumble and nearly fall. Sten catches them by the arm and they wince.

            “I’m fine, I’m fine,” they mutter, pulling away.

            “Are you quite certain?” Morrigan questions, approaching. She pulls up Lux’s sleeve forcibly, revealing the nasty bite wound there. Zevran hisses out a curse, while the witch simply sighs, pressing her hand to it. She mutters a few words, her hand starting to glow, before the wound starts to glow.

            The pain recedes slightly, but when Morrigan takes her hand back, it still looks as angry and red as it did before.

            “Well, that doesn’t spell much good,” Zevran remarks, gently pulling the woman away. “But we shall burn that bridge when we get to it, no?”

            “I am _fine_ ,” Lux insists, and storms off to follow the ghostly boy.

 

As the rest of the party roots through the remains of the room, Lux’s eyes catch on a glittering of red. They approach, curiously, picking up the small gem. Instantly, they are hit with memories, of a life not their own. They gasp softly, letting the vision wash over them.

           

Alarm. Recoiling in fear. New images rush their mind, imprisonment, loneliness.

            Who are you? What are you?

            Bewilderment. _Real_. Time trapped within the Life Gem. Time of sleeping, going mad, sleeping again. No name to remember. Elf, a mage in glittering silver armour. A fog, this was long ago.

            What is this place? What happened here?

            Serenity. Immortal elves in endless sleep. Tributes to the gods. Uncertainty. Flashes of violence, war…

            War with humans?

            A time after humans had come. Built this place, long before. Uncertainty, maybe other humans, maybe something else. Elves and humans slain, littering the halls.

            How did you end up in this gem?

            A great battle. Elves and humans screaming, fleeing. A terrible presence. The images blur. Lost to time. Fleeing as well, escaping the body. Escaping into the Life Gem. Dreams of rescue, endless. Loneliness. Then, their own face, reflected in the phylactery. Eyes slowly turning yellow. Now.

            You were once a mage?

            An elf, in silver armour. Mage and warrior. _Dirth’ena enaslin_. Knowledge that led to victory. Arcane warrior.

            What is an arcane warrior?

            Elven mages, spells channelled into strength. Spell, sword. An offer. Knowledge. Teach. One thing. Oblivion.

            How would I give you the release you seek?

            Uncertainty. A stone altar, the Life Gem placed upon it. An explosion, destruction of the Gem. Yearning. Hopelessness.

            I will help you.

            Desperation. Can’t remember. Where is the altar? Can’t see, can’t remember.

            I see it.

            Excitement, barely bound. A question. An offer of teaching.

            Yes, give me your memories.

            More memories. Hazy, but clear enough. Knowledge. Training with swords, sparring. Then, release. Farewell.

            Joy. Oblivion.

 

The phylactery shatters.

 

The elven ritual is fascinating, and distracts them momentarily from more pressing matters. They hear the faint, discontent muttering behind them of Sten, who does not see sense in pursuing this, but ignore it as they fill the jug, kneeling and praying, before sipping from the jug and pouring the rest of the water back into the pool. The jug shatters and there is a moment of quiet before the metal doors at the end of the room swing slowly open.

            The ghost of a woman yells at them in elven. Lux, who understands the gist of it, tries to talk back, but she does not reply, flying at them with a wail. Despite his complaining, Sten steps in front of them, hacking at it with his greatsword. It dissolves with another cry.

            Lux sighs when they spot Zevran pushing open the lid of a sarcophagus. Well, the woman was correct when she accused them of desecrating her grave, apparently.

            A set of armour he pulls out piques their interest, however, and they draw near, fingers gently brushing over the metal plates. It smells of cut grass, and the metal resembles winding vines and leaves. It’s gorgeous. Zevran stows it away in his pack, and they make a note to make Varathorn look at it later.

 

The flapping of wings, and then the heavy breathing gives the danger away before the dragon itself appears, breathing a large fan of flame. Everyone ducks and rolls out of the way, and everyone is in position immediately, Sten and Zevran moving to flank its sides while Morrigan and Lux unleash their wrath on it from separate points in the room.

            It’s only when a large sweep of a claw sends Zevran flying that Lux runs forwards, ducking down halfway to pick up one of the fallen swords. They grit their teeth, stepping onto a crate to jump at the beast, sword in the air. Then they stab down, a flare of energy emitting from the blade as they pierce the top of the dragon’s skull.

            It falls with a deafening cry, and they manage to land in a roll, crashing hard into a heap of broken crates. Falon immediately rushes to their side, nosing into their face to make sure they’re alright, and they laugh, pushing the dog away as they sit up.

            “Where did you learn that?” Zevran asks incredulously. “That was quite admirable, my friend.”

            Lux grins, wiping away a bit of blood from their nose. “It is in my blood.”

 

The trip through the ruins takes its toll on them, however. As they enter into one of the rooms of the ruins, werewolves appear out of nowhere in a surprise attack. Sten, Zevran and Falon are able to keep the beasts off of the mages for the most part, drawing a tight circle around them, but one of them manages to get past, lunging for Morrigan. Lux lets out a growl that rips through their throat, and spring forwards, staff forgotten on the ground as they tackle the thing to the ground and slam its head into the floor once, twice. It stills under their grip and they whip around with a snarl.

            Sten drives his sword through the last of the wolves, and Zevran and Morrigan look at them, wide-eyed.

            “It seems… the battle might be speeding up the curse,” Morrigan notes, voice holding a note of caution. “It is in our best interest to hurry.”

            The haze of combat clearing from their mind, Lux blinks and shakes their head in confusion. “I… yes. Apologies, I did not mean to let go like that.”

            “If you keep growling like that, I might not mind,” Zevran says lightly, and helps them up. Morrigan hands them their staff, which they accept with a nod.

            “Let us hurry, then. I do not wish to turn on any of you.”

            They let Zevran and Morrigan take the lead, falling into step behind Sten, who seems the least bothered by this new development. However, he looks down on them as they speak up.

            “If I do turn… on any of you. Promise me… promise me you will take care of it.” They look up at him pleadingly.

            Sten slowly nods. “I shall. You will not pose a threat to anyone.”

 

A large wolf stands on a dais, surrounded by others of his kin. He holds up a hand to hold the rest of the werewolves back as they approach.

            “Stop! Brothers and sisters, be at ease! We do not wish any more of our people hurt. I ask you this now, outsider: are you willing to parley?”

            Lux speaks through gritted teeth. “Like you parleyed with the Dalish?”

            The grey werewolf growls. “That was different. The Lady believes the Dalish have not told you everything, so she has asked that you be brought to her. She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley in peace is an honest one.”

            Lux opens their mouth to refuse the offer, but finds themselves ducking their head. “We will parley,” they say.

            Morrigan looks at them incredulously. “We have already slaughtered our way through them, unless you’ve forgotten.”

            “We will parley,” they repeat, louder. “Everyone calm down.”

            The werewolf nods. “Follow me, then. But I warn you, if you break your promise and harm her, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay.”

 

They are led into another chamber, where more werewolves greet them with snarls. However, they calm as a woman steps in between them, pale skin tinged green, vines creeping up her naked body, forming arm-like extensions of her body. Her hair, dark as night, falls over her shoulders, covering her chest. She looks down upon them with a gentle smile, and Lux lets out a soft whine.

            “I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest.” Her voice, this spirit’s voice, for that is all she could be, is a haunting melody, drawing them in like the warmth of a fire, the smell of a pine forest. They feel like they want to curl up at her feet and sleep forever.

            Zevran mutters a callous remark that makes Swiftrunner charge forwards, but the Lady extends a hand.

            “Hush, Swiftrunner. Your urge for battle has seen only the death of the very ones you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?”

            Swiftrunner sinks to a knee, bowing his head. “No, my lady. Anything but that.”

            “Then the time has come to speak with this outsider, to set our rage aside. I apologise on Swiftrunner’s behalf. He struggles with his nature.”

            “As do we all, Lady,” Lux says softly. The Lady smiles, and beckons them forwards. They hesitate, but then approach her, kneeling like Swiftrunner did. Vine-like fingers caress their hair like a mother.

            “Truer words were never spoken. But few could claim the same as these creatures: that their very nature is a curse forced upon them. No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you.” At their silence, she continues. “It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian’s own people now suffer.”

            She starts to explain, helped along by Swiftrunner. Together they tell of Zathrian, who sought revenge upon a human clan for attacking his children, killing the boy and raping the girl. Zathrian summoned a spirit, binding it to that of a wolf, who hunted the humans, cursing them. The Lady of the Forest helped them find another side to their nature, soothing them.

            “Why did you ambush the Dalish?” Lux asks softly. “For revenge?”

            “In part,” the Lady sighs. “We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian’s children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. Word was sent to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always ignored us.” Anger enters her voice, and Lux softly whimpers. “We will no longer be denied.”

            “We spread the curse to his people. So he must end the curse to save.” Swiftrunner growls angrily.

            “Please, mortal…” The Lady lifts up their chin with her hand. “You must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, sees you, hears your plight… Surely he will agree to end the curse.”

            “Why would Zathrian agree to come here alone?” Zevran crosses his arms.

            “If Zathrian comes, I shall summon Witherfang. I possess that power. I also have the power to ensure Witherfang is never found. Tell Zathrian this. If he does not come, if he does not break the curse, he will never find Witherfang, and he will never cure his people.”

            “She is Witherfang,” Lux says softly, and Zevran’s eyes fall on them.

            “So we can’t kill her.”

            “I won’t let you.” They look at Morrigan and Sten. “Find Zathrian. Bring him here.”


	21. Reunions and Farewells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one has a bit of a timeskip cuz i was trying to tie loose storylines together, sorry for that

Alistair catches her when she stumbles. With a gasp, she looks up, eyes wide and brimming with worry.

            “Connor?” she asks.

            Irving places a hand on her shoulder. “He will be alright. He is sleeping, but will recover fully, in due time. We will escort him to the Circle when times are a little less… hectic.”

            “The arl is still out,” Tori adds. “He seems to be stable, though. But we need the Sacred Ashes.”

            “Which is a legend.” Rose sighs and nods. “What was our first lead?”

            “Brother Genitivi, in Denerim, has been looking for them. You could ask him,” Teagan suggests. “However, I first think you all need some rest. We still have quarters prepared, and you can set out for Denerim in the morning. Unless… you wish to wait for your other companions first?”

            Rose hums, considering. The trip to Redcliffe and the trip to the forest should have taken about the same time. Depending on how things went with the Dalish, they might already be on their way back.

            “We can wait for a few more days, I think.”

 

It doesn’t turn out to be necessary. After another day and a half, Tori comes down to a hustle and bustle in the great hall when a large, black bird swoops in through one of the windows, cawing loudly. She’s about ready to draw her weapons (sure, it could be a normal bird, but they can’t take any chances), when the crow’s form shifts, and morphs back into something more humanoid sized.

            Morrigan looks around the crowd, then locks eyes with her. “Ah, ‘tis good to see you alive and well, at least. I come bearing a message from my companions.”

            “Is everything all right over there? Did you manage to get help from the Dalish?”

            The witch rolls her eyes. “Patience, I was not done talking. Lux asked me to tell you they have finished their business in the forest, and ask where they should head next.”

            “We are headed for Denerim,” Tori answers, a bit miffed about being shot down. “Could you go back and tell them to head there as well?”

            “I am hardly a messenger pigeon, but yes, I could.” She gives a wry smile, then without warning turns back into a bird and flies out of the hall. Tori sighs and rubs her forehead. Why are none of her friends normal?

 

“So, Denerim is next, huh.” Alistair keeps polishing his sword as he talks, and Rose smiles slightly at his awkwardness. “Hey, I, uhm… I didn’t get to thank you yet. For, uh… Well, for saving Connor’s life.”

            Rose’s cheeks heat up. “It’s… it’s no problem. I mean, I didn’t… I wasn’t going to let a child die.”

            “Well, I’d like to thank you anyway. Uh…” He trails off, and Rose takes a deep breath before digging something out of her pouch.

            “I have something for you!” she says, perhaps a bit loudly. Alistair looks up in surprise, and she holds out the amulet. His eyes widen as he takes it from her.

            “This… this is my mother’s amulet. It has to be. But why isn’t it broken? Where did you find it?” His voice sounds constricted, choked up.

            “I found it in the castle,” she admits. “In the study.”

            “The arl’s study?” She nods, and he shakes his head in confusion. “Then he must have… found the amulet after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired and kept it? I don’t understand, why would he do that?”

            Rose smiles softly. “Perhaps you mean more to him than you think.”

            Alistair smiles back, though it’s with a slight tremble. “Guess you could be right. We never really talked that much, and then the way I left… Thank you.” He finally looks up at her, meeting her eyes. “I mean it. I… I thought I’d lost this to my own stupidity.” His eyes drop back to the amulet and he clutches it between his fingers gingerly. “I’ll need to talk to him about this. If he recovers from his…” His voice falters, and she puts her hand on his. “When he recovers, that is. I wish I’d had this a long time ago.”

            He sighs, and puts it around his neck with a yearning look. Rose pulls her hands back.

            He looks at her again, eyes narrowing. “Did you remember me mentioning it? Wow. I’m more used to people not really listening when I go on about things.”

            She smirks. “Sorry, what?”

            “Ho, ho, ho. See this gesture I’m making? Can you hear that?”

            Rose laughs and shakes her head. “Of course I remembered, Alistair. You’re special to me.”

            All at once, his face turns beet red again, from his ears down. “I don’t know what to say… You’re special to me too. Thank you again. For this, and… the other thing.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “You do a lot for me, you know.”

            “You deserve it.”

 

They leave the next day, back on the road to Denerim. The arlessa and Bann Teagan have graciously outfitted them with better armour and weapons where they needed them. Lady Isolde tried to present Rose with a new staff, but she told her to give it to Connor; the boy needs it more. Bodahn is happy to get underway again, having done most of his trading in the village. Rose spends a good five minutes talking with Sandal about enchantments, and the dwarven boy then equips Tori’s and Alistair’s swords with some runes that the young mage assures them will be more effective against darkspawn. Tori eyes it suspiciously, but can’t seem to find anything wrong with it, so she sheathes them with a satisfying sound. She’ll take anything she can get at this point.

            The road to Denerim is reasonably uneventful, packs of darkspawn aside. At times like those, Tori kind of misses Lux, with their long range sensory abilities, but they manage to skirt by most of them, and cut down the rest. They’ve been fighting together for long enough now that they work well together as a team; Alistair takes point, keeping the monsters off of their less defensible members, while Tori sneaks around the groups, taking out the largest threats with surprise attacks. Training with Leliana has taught her to find weak points in their enemies: not only in their armour, but also in their stances and their teamwork. She’s surprised but pleased to see that she’s not the only one learning new tricks – when a ray of healing energy washes over her, she instinctively looks towards Wynne, but finds the woman busy enhancing Alistair’s strength, and instead Rose looks over to her with a grin and a thumbs-up.

            Finally, they reach Denerim. The city still looks just like she remembers it: dirty, stinking of vermin and garbage, and with a wide array of people looking to earn some coin. She loves it.

            There’s a caw overhead, and she looks up to find a crow circling above them before flying off in the distance. Company soon, then. Sure enough, mere ten minutes later a group approaches them, led by a very familiar elven face. Something is… off about the Dalish, however, but Tori can’t put a finger on it just yet. So she grins and waves, welcoming back her friends with enthusiasm.

 

Some ten days earlier, Lux’s head jerks up as the familiar scent of their companions draw near. As they make that observation, they wince; they don’t know when they started being able to distinguish people by scent, but it’s highly disturbing. Behind the group follows Zathrian, eyes narrowed in frustration.

            “So here you are, spirit,” he calls out with a sneer.

            Swiftrunner twitches. “She is the Lady of the Forest. You will address her properly!”

            “You’ve taken a name, spirit?” Zathrian mocks. “And you’ve given names to your pets? These… beasts, who follow you?” His eyes fall on Lux, then, darkening for a moment before returning his gaze to the Lady. Lux has to fight back a snarl, ducking their head at the Lady’s feet.

            “It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian,” she speaks soothingly, gesturing around her. “And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are.”

            “Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were. Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!”

            Swiftrunner growls low in his throat. “He will not help us, Lady! It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!”

            Zathrian shakes his head at this. “No, I am here to talk, though I see little point in it. We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine.”

            The Lady’s voice is sombre when she speaks. “It does not have to be that way. There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent.”

            “My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain, This is justice, no more.”

            “Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse? Have you told the mortals how it was created?”

            “He summoned you, didn’t he?” Lux asks. “Bound you to a wolf.”

            “And so he did,” the Lady replies, petting their hair with one vined hand. “Witherfang and I are bound as one being. But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian’s own blood.” She looks at Zathrian. “Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you.”

            “No, that is not how it is!”

            This time, Lux does snarl. “You would betray our people for revenge,” they say, trembling with rage. It is only the Lady’s touch that keeps them from springing at him.

            “It is not a betrayal. I did what was necessary. I did what was just, and it still is!”

            “The curse would not end with Zathrian’s death,” the Lady says. “His life, however, relies on its existence. And I believe his death plays a part in its ending.”

            Swiftrunner snarls, and it echoes through the room. “Then we kill him! We tear him apart now.”

            “For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still,” Zathrian spits. “What would you gain from me? Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will never do it.”

            “You see?” Swiftrunner gestures at the group of wolves behind him. “We must kill them all.”

            Lux ducks their head with a whimper. Their nature compels them to follow his words, but there is a part of them that’s still Dalish. That still stands with their people.

            Zathrian sees their hesitance and acts on it. “See? They turn on you as quickly. Do what you have come here to do, Grey Warden, or get out of my way.”

            They slowly right themselves, every one of their muscles tense. “You will end that curse if I have to force you myself,” they grit out.

            “Then you die with them!” their Keeper yells. “All of you will suffer as you deserve!”

            And the room comes alive.

            While most of the other werewolves are trapped in cages of force, Lux manages to get between them, and lunges at Zathrian, who is in the middle of another spell. They bullrush him to the ground, a claw clamping around his throat.

            “I respected you,” they hiss. “Looked up to you as a father. I never thought…” They slump, hand falling limp. “You disgust me, Zathrian.”

            “Finish it,” Swiftrunner growls behind them, freed from the spell. “Kill him now.”

            “No, Swiftrunner.” The Lady’s hands fall on their body, helping them up with gentle touches. “We will not kill him. If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how may we expect there to be room in his?”

            Zathrian shakes his head, sitting up and coughing. “I cannot do as you ask, spirit. I am too old… to know mercy. All I see are the faces of my children, my people, I…” He shakes his head again. “I cannot do it.”

            “Will you really let your clan die?” Lux asks. “Our clan? For this?”

            He looks at them, eyes dark. “Perhaps I have… lived too long. This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root… it has consumed my soul.” He looks up at the Lady. “What of you, spirit? You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?”

            “You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things I desire no more than an end. I beg you, maker…” She lets go of Lux, kneeling down in front of him. “Put an end to me. We beg you… Show mercy.”

            All around the room, the werewolves kneel. Lux does as well, head bowed down. Zathrian struggles to his own knees.

            “You shame me, spirit. I am… an old man, alive long past his time.”

            “Then you will do it? You will end the curse?”

            “Yes. I think it is time. Let us put an end to it all.” He sighs and looks at Lux. “If you will, help me to the altar, _da’len_.”

            Lux nods and gets up, helping their Keeper to his feet. With a last longing glance at the Lady, they help the man to the altar.

            And they watch.


	22. (No) Happy Endings

“Who’s the new guy?” Tori asks as her eyes fall on Zevran.

“What _happened_ to you?” Rose asks simultaneously, staring at Lux.

            Lux rubs the back of their neck sheepishly. “Yes, it is good to see all of you again as well. Can we do this conversation somewhere a little less obvious? Like, say, not in the middle of a street?” They nod down the road. “We have some rooms in an inn close to the market square. We can share stories there.”

 

And so they find themselves huddled in one of the rooms, most of them sitting on the floor.

            “- and then I had to go into the Fade _again_ and had to fight demons _again_ , and long story short, I’d like to take a break from Fade-traipsing from now on if that is in any way possible.” Rose flops back onto the bed, next to Wynne who gives her a small smile.

            Lux laughs. “From what I heard of the story, you volunteered, so stop complaining.”

            “Yeah, and while we’re talking about your story-telling skills, you totally left out how awesome our oil trap was during the zombie fight!” Tori says, throwing her hands up.

            “Never mind that.” Rose sits up again, drawing her knees up to her chest to she can rest her chin on them. “Lux, now you have to introduce us to your new friend.”

            Lux smiles and pats Zevran on the shoulder. “Well, this here is Zevran Arainai, from Antiva. He entirely failed to kill us, then decided joining us would probably be a better idea than dying.”

            A moment of silence falls, before Tori breaks it. “You… hired an assassin. Who tried to murder you.”

            “Tried, and failed, I assure you,” Zevran replies with a roguish grin. “And I harbour no ill intentions towards any of you, that, I promise.”

            “You tried to murder them!” Tori’s voice takes on a bit of a high pitched tone. “Like, actually murder! Stabby stabby!”

            “Yes, and he was wholly ineffective at it. Besides, it was Loghain who hired him.”

            “That’s even worse!” 

            “Yeah, uh, I’m going to have to agree with Tori here,” Alistair says, raising his hand. “He’s an assassin. That’s a little… risky, isn’t it?”

            “Am I dead?” Lux raises their hands. “Exhibit A. Zevran is fine. He has already helped us tremendously, and I would be werewolf chow without him.”

            “Yes, speaking of.” Morrigan sends them a sharp look and they sigh.

            “Ah, yes. And… then there is that.” They shuffle uncomfortably on the floor. “I am… certain by now you must have noticed the slight… aesthetic change I have undergone.”

            “New armour,” Tori points out, then does a double-take. “Wait, you’re wearing armour. Thought mages don’t wear armour.”

            “Not what I meant, but yes. Sure. Let us talk about my armour-”

            “They got bit by a werewolf,” Sten says gruffly. There’s the sound of gasps echoing through the room.

            “A werewolf? That’s… those exist?” Rose’s eyes light up with curiosity.

            “And now you’re one? That’s how those things work, right?” Tori leans forwards excitedly. “Are you gonna transform every full moon to rip out the throats of our enemies? Oooh, maybe we should fight the archdemon with a full moon…”

            “I am not a werewolf,” they reply with a sigh. “If you would let me explain…”

            And explain they do, telling the story of their clan, their Keeper and the curse he brought upon the tribe of humans ages ago, how they got bitten, about the Lady and the sacrifice. About how Lanaya is Keeper now, how the curse is gone and the Dalish on their way to recovery, their promise of aid.

            At the end of their story, they fall quiet, eyes downcast. Alistair reaches over to put a hand on their shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says solemnly. “To lose a father figure like that… Well, I can’t even imagine it.”

            “Then we should probably hurry with finding the Ashes,” Tori remarks. “No more dead father-figures in this group.”

            “Brother Genitivi lives across from the inn,” Morrigan says. “We have not gone in yet, however.”

            “Let’s get this over with, then,” Rose says, getting up. “We will need the arl soon if we wish to overthrow Loghain.”

 

While more stories of travels are exchanged around them, Alistair approaches Rose. “You know… maybe this isn’t the best time to be thinking about this, but I’ve something to ask you.” Rose hums in acknowledgement, and he continues. “Seeing as we’re in Denerim now, I’m wondering if we might be able to… look someone up.”

            “You have a friend here?” she asks. “Outside the Grey Wardens?”

            “I’m not talking about a friend exactly. And…” She raises an eyebrow and he shakes his head. “No, it’s not that sort of friend, either. The thing is, I have a sister. A half-sister.” He gestures vaguely. “I told you about my mother, right? She was a servant at Redcliffe Castle, and she had a daughter… only I never knew about her. I don’t think she knew about me either. They kept my birth a secret, after all. But after I became a Grey Warden, I did some checking, and… well, I found out she’s still alive. In Denerim.”

            “That’s wonderful news!” Rose says, patting him on the arm. She knows she herself still has some family out there, if they still live; from what she remembers, one of her aunts even moved back to Ferelden from the Free Marches. She wishes she knew how to find them.

            “She’s the only real family I have left,” Alistair continues. “The only family not also mixed up in the whole royal thing. I’ve just been thinking that… Maybe it’s time I went to see her.” He runs a hand through his hair. “With the Blight coming and everything, I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance to see her. Maybe I can help her, warn her about the danger, I don’t know.”

            “If you want to, we could try.” She gives him a reassuring smile, and he returns it.

            “I’d appreciate that. If something happened to her and I never went to at least see her, I don’t know if I could forgive myself. Her name is Goldanna, and I think she remarried, but still lives just outside the Alienage. If we’re in the area then… well, it’s worth a look.” He shrugs and smiles.

            “After we visit Genitivi, we can pay her a visit. Do you want the rest to come?”

            “Oh, absolutely not.”

            “Thought so. We’ll sneak off.”

            “… Thanks, Rose. You’re too good for me.”

            Rose smiles and pats him on the cheek. “I know.”

 

The front door of Brother Genitivi is unlocked, which should, in retrospect, have been their first sign something is off. As they enter, a man comes walking out of the back room. “Yes? What are you doing here?”

            “Brother Genitivi, I assume?” Rose asks with a friendly smile.

            “No, no, I am Weylon, Brother Genitivi’s assistant.” He sighs. “When you first came in I was… I was hoping that you had news of Brother Genitivi – wishful thinking, it seems.”

            She frowns. “Has something happened to him?”

            “I haven’t seen Brother Genitivi in weeks,” Weylon replies. “He’s sent no word; it’s so unlike him. I am afraid something has happened. Genitivi’s research into the Urn may have led him into danger.”

            “Why would searching for the Urn lead him into danger?”

            “Perhaps the Urn has been lost for a reason. I pray for Genitivi’s safety, but hope dwindles with each passing day. I-I tried to send help, but some knights came from Redcliffe looking for him not long ago. I sent them after Genitivi and they too have disappeared.”

            “We must go after him. We need the Urn for Arl Eamon.”

            “No, don’t ask me where he went,” Weylon says, shaking his head. “You’ll go after them, and what if ill-luck should befall you, too? This search is a curse, on all of us. Some things are not meant to be found. I know that now.”

            “We are willing to risk it,” Lux insists. “Tell us where he went.”

            The man sighs. “So be it. All he said before he left was that he would be staying at an inn near Lake Calenhad, investigating something in that area.”

            “What exactly was he investigating?” Rose asks calmly.

            “I don’t know. All I discovered from going through his research was that he was staying at the inn.”

            “But you just said he spoke to you and told you that,” Tori points out with a frown.

            “Y-yes, of course he told me, but I also went through his things to see if I could find other clues to his whereabouts.” Weylon nods as if to convince himself.

            Tori scoffs. “You sound nervous. Hiding something?”

            Weylon looks around, eyes darting across the room, over the Wardens and their companions, Tori with a hand on her blade, Lux with piercing yellow eyes pinning him down, Sten guarding the door with his massive frame. “That’s n-not true. I told you everything I know. Brother Genitivi told us – t-told me about the inn and that’s all!”

            “Us?” Lux prods.

            “Us? I mean, me. T-there is no us…” Then his posture changes. “Bah! Why do I keep up on this charade? I gave you a chance to turn aside and forget you ever heard of Genitivi and the Urn. But you persisted.” He shakes his head slowly. “Now, it has come to this… Andraste forgive me, I do this in your name!”

            The moment he reaches for his staff, Zevran appears from behind him, slicing his throat. Tori, who had been preparing to charge, gapes at him with an indignant, but impressed look. The Antivan simply smiles and wipes his blade on the man’s clothes.

            “Done. Now let us search for clues.”

 

Skimming through the journal provides them with a location: Haven, in the Frostback Mountains. They also find the body that presumably belonged to the real Weylon. Leliana murmurs his final rites and closes his eyes.

            “Haven is close to Redcliffe,” Rose notes, studying the map. “And Orzammar is north of that.”

            “We should find Genitivi first,” Tori argues. “We have no idea how long the Arl will be stable. He might die if we go to Orzammar first.”

            Lux nods in agreement. “We could pick up some odd jobs on the way. We found some information on the Chanter’s Board about Loghain’s troops, we could intercept and… ‘investigate’ them.”

            Tori gives them a look of appreciation. “Look at that, our Dalish is learning sarcasm!”

            They push her with a wry grin. “Yes, and you are finally acquiring some common sense. Let us head back to the inn to discuss our plans.”

 

“That’s…” Alistair swallows hard. “My sister’s house. I’m almost sure of it, this is…” He looks around, before staring back at the door. “Yes, this is the right address. She could be inside. Could we… go and see?”

            “Alistair, are you scared to see her?”

            “Do I seem a little nervous?” He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I am. I really don’t know what to expect. I’d like you to be there with me, if you’re willing. Or we could… leave, I suppose.” He starts to step back. “We really don’t have time to pay a visit, do we? The rest is waiting for us in the tavern… Maybe we should go.”

            Rose grabs his arm, pulling him to the door. “Let’s see if she’s home, at least.”

            “Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister. That sounds very strange.” He scrunches his nose up. “‘Sister’. ‘Siiiiiissster’. Hmm. Now I’m babbling.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we should go. Let’s go. Let’s just… go.”

            She knocks firmly on the door and his mouth clamps shut, staring anxiously at the house. A voice inside calls for them to enter. Rose looks at Alistair, then enters.

            The house is small, cramped even, but it looks tidy. Alistair takes a deep breath. “Err… hello?”

            A woman comes in from another room, plain, with reddish-blond hair falling to her shoulders and worn, but clean clothes. “You have linens to wash?” she asks. “I charge three bits on the bundle, you won’t find better. And don’t trust what that Natalia woman tells you either, she’s foreign and she’ll rob you blind.”

            He looks at Rose, who smiles encouragingly, then at the woman. “I’m… not here to have any wash done. My name’s Alistair. I’m…” He takes another deep breath to steel himself. “Well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose I’m your brother.”

            She just stares at him, eyes slightly narrowed. “My what? I am Goldanna, yes. How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?”

            “Are you sure your information was correct, Alistair?” Rose asks cautiously.

            “Yes, I… I think so. I’m sure of it, in fact.” He straightens his shoulders, looking at Goldanna. “Look, our mother… she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She-”

            “You!” She points at him accusatorily. “I knew it! They told me you was dead! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying!”

            “They told you I was dead?” Alistair frowns. “Who? Who told you that?”

            “Them’s at the castle! I told them the babe was the king’s, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth, and sent me on my way! I knew it!”

            “I’m sorry, I… didn’t know that.” He hangs his head. “The babe didn’t die. I’m him; I’m your brother.”

            “For all the good it does me,” Goldanna scoffs. “You killed Mother, you did, and I’ve had to scrape by all this time. That coin didn’t last long, and when I went back they ran me off.”

            Rose crosses her arms indignantly. “That’s hardly Alistair’s fault, is it?”

            Goldanna turns to her now, eyebrows raised. “And who in the Maker’s name are you? Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?”

            “Hey!” Alistair glares. “Don’t speak to her that way! She’s my friend, and a Grey Warden! Just like me!”

            “Oooohh, I see.” Goldanna cocks her head and laughs. “A prince and a Gey Warden, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?” She presses a hand to her chest, then shoos at him with the other. “I don’t know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing.” She scoffs. “They tricked me good! I should have told everyone! I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you.”

            Alistair sighs and hangs his head. “I… I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what to say…”

            Rose bites her lip, looking at the bitter woman. “Goldanna, Alistair came here hoping to find his family.”

            “Well, so he’s found it.” She sneers. “I’m his sister. But what are you to me, boy, except the one who took my mother away, hmm?”

            “You think I wished her dead? I never wanted that. I didn’t have the life you think I did, Goldanna.”

            “I suppose not. A bastard is still a bastard, isn’t he? But brother or no, I got five mouths to feed and no time to spare until they are.”

            “Then let me promise you this, Goldanna.” Alistair’s voice wavers slightly. “I’ll do whatever I can, speak to whomever I can, to ensure you and your children are taken care of.”

            Goldanna eyes him suspiciously. “Mmm. That sounds all well and fine, but you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t exactly hold my breath.”

            “You have my promise. I can’t give you more than that.” He turns to Rose. “Let’s… let’s go. I want to go. Goodbye, sister.”

 

As they walk, downtrodden, back to the tavern, Rose brushes her hand against Alistair. He looks down on her and smiles weakly. “Well that was… not what I expected. To put it lightly.” He sighs and looks back in front. “I’ll live up to my promise, I suppose, but…” He shakes his head with a frown. “This is the family I’ve been wondering about all my life?”

            Rose links their fingers together and he looks down again, surprised. He doesn’t pull back, however.

            “I just can’t believe it,” he says softly. “I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do? I… I feel like a complete idiot.”

            She stops him, pulling him to face her. “Everyone is out for themselves, these days. You should learn that.”

            Alistair grimaces, then nods. “I suppose you’re right. I should.”

            “Besides, you have other people who care for you.”

            “Such as?” He drops his head. “The only person who ever cared about me was Duncan. And he’s gone.”

            “You have friends, Alistair.” She reaches up to lift his chin with her hand. “I’m one of them. I care about you.”

            He gives her another weak smile. “I… I thank you. I’m glad you came with me. Let’s just go. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”


	23. Work at Hand

“So, we have a few matters we can attend to,” Lux states, poring over the map of Ferelden that’s been spread out over the table. “Most of them can wait, however. We have received word that a return visit to the ruins of Ostagar might be worth our time – King Cailan’s arms and armour, for one, are things I am sure some of you would put some value to.”

            Alistair nods thoughtfully. “I definitely wouldn’t mind retrieving those.”

            “Arl Eamon should be our priority, though,” Tori adds with a frown. “Armour and weapons don’t tend to grow legs and walk away. If Eamon dies…”

            “No, I agree.” Lux traces out a line with their fingers. “We can pass through the battlefield Loghain’s soldiers are said to be, resolve that issue, and then move on to the Frostbacks. Perhaps after Arl Eamon is restored and we have visited Orzammar, we can head to Ostagar.”

            “Sounds entirely doable,” Zevran says, leaning over them to look. They bump into him as they move to roll up the map, and both of them stumble into Sten, who stares down at them, unimpressed.

            “In that case, have the rest of the day,” Lux says, patting the Qunari man on the chest before righting themselves. “If you wish to do any shopping, you may as well do it now; I do not believe there will be many market stalls in the mountains.”

 

After bartering with a dwarven merchant over a better sword, Tori and Zevran scour the market stalls, looking for a bite to eat. Despite claiming to not have been in Denerim much before, the Antivan elf knows his way around quite well.

            They split up for a moment, Tori arguing with the guards by the Alienage who refuse to let her in. She vows to herself to simply sneak in later, when it’s dark, and trails off, eventually finding Zevran again. He stands by a rather rotund man with a soft face and slightly pointed ears.

            The former assassin smirks at her, and waves her closer. “I made a friend,” he proclaims, patting the other man on the shoulder. “Slim Couldry here has very good insights in people. He has a job that he thinks you and I might be very suited for.”

            Tori slinks up behind him, resting her arms on the top of his head and looking at Slim. “Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

 

The mark is laughably easy. Zevran distracts the woman, asking for directions to some place or another while Tori sneaks up behind, snatching the satchel from the maid’s side. They high-five as they reconvene near Slim Couldry, who meets them with appreciation.

            “Deft work you did there. Now, let’s see if you can pull this one off…”

 

“Excuse me! Message for you, ser.”

            Lux takes the letter from the young boy, who immediately runs off again, and reads the invitation from one Master Ignacio. It sounds… shady, but at this point, new friends are never something to turn down.

            Asking Sten and Morrigan to accompany them, they head to the back of the inn. Inside the back-room, they are met with a few men, along with who they assume to be Master Ignacio standing all the way at the back.

            “You here about a note?” he asks, accent thick. “Maybe we have some things we can talk about.”

            “I am listening,” they reply, tucking their hands behind their back.

            “Ferelden is a busy place. Blight, civil war, other mayhem. Lots of people not getting along.” He pauses with a smile. “Sometimes they _really_ don’t get along. Maybe want to do something about it.”

            They see where this is going. However, it could be just the edge they need in this circumstance.

            “The people that handle that sort of thing can get real busy,” Ignacio continues.

            “Go on.”

            “It takes time to do a good job – pride in your work and all – but customers have expectations. Not many people to turn to if you’re short-staffed in some lines of work. So, someone’s that crossed our path and lived… well, maybe they could help out.” Ignacio shrugs. “Make some coin. Everyone lives.”

            Oh. Wait. This man must be an Antivan Crow, like Zevran. That… complicates matters. “How does this work, then?” they question with a frown.

            “I hand you a scroll,” he explains. “You read it, you learn about someone interesting. If you find out something happens to him, something unfortunate, then if we talk again I give you money for ‘letting me know’.” He gestures dismissively. “You don’t like what’s on the scroll, don’t do anything. Maybe he has an accident, and someone else tells me all about it.”

            Subtle, but clear. Lux exchanges a quick look with their companions, then holds out a hand. “Hand me the scroll.”

 

“So, where are you two headed next?” Rose asks as she approaches Tori and Lux. The both of them, with Zevran and Leliana on one side, Sten and Morrigan on the other, have just made their way to the city gate.

            Lux shrugs. “Someone handed me some… interesting information. I am on my way to investigate it.”

            “There was a poster, by the Alienage gate,” Tori says with a motion of her hand. “Calling for Grey Wardens, supporters trying to reach us. Figure we might scope it out. Besides, Zevran seems awful happy to check out the Pearl.” She pulls a face.

            Rose raises her eyebrows. “Well, that’s where I’m headed as well. Sergeant Kylon asked us to chase some ruffians away from there.”

            “Then it seems we are all headed for this Pearl,” Lux says with a faint smile. “I am never getting rid of any of you, am I?”

            Alistair laughs and ruffles up their hair. “Nah, you’re stuck now.”

 

The Pearl is… not what they expected. In hindsight, they don’t exactly know _what_ they expected, but it wasn’t… well, a brothel. Looking around at their companions, none of them seem particularly happy. Tori stares in front of her with bored disinterest, the tips of Alistair’s ears are burning faintly, and Wynne looks outright scandalised.

            Zevran, however, looks right at home, immediately heading for someone picking a fight nearby. They leave him be, walking with Rose to one of the backrooms to chase off the mercenaries.

            Once the White Falcons have been… gently persuaded to leave the Pearl, they head down the hall. Tori takes the lead, knocking on the door and speaking the password she read on the poster. They decided it would be best if only actual Wardens answered the call, and so Wynne, Leliana, Morrigan and Sten wait in the main area, where they also left Zevran.

            “Another Grey Warden supporter,” the man at the front sneers.

            “Not just a supporter, Paedan,” the elven woman at his side says with a frown. “That’s a Grey Warden. He’s the one Arl Howe is looking for.”

Lux cocks their head. Paedan. The man Ignacio asked them to… investigate, then. Interesting.

            “Our trap landed a Grey Warden?” Paedan’s eyes light up. “You’ve got one chance to surrender.”

            “Yeah, I don’t think so buddy,” Tori says, drawing her blades and bracing herself.

            The mercenaries – Howe’s elite, they call himself – attack. In such a cramped space, it’s a tight fight, but Lux makes good use of their newly learned skills, defending Rose with their staff while she shoots concentrated bolts of energy to hold their opponent’s back. In mere moments, the band of mercenaries lays defeated on the floor. Tori goes to rifle through their pockets and the room to find anything valuable immediately; Lux leaves her to it, returning to the main room.

            “What happened in there?” Wynne asks, putting a hand on their shoulder. They stiffen, but relax as a rush of warmth goes through them, closing up small cuts and bruises they had received.

            “Howe’s men. Or so they said. I… do not actually know what that means, besides the fact that he is an Arl.”

            “He must be with Loghain,” Leliana notes. “I do not understand, however, I thought Denerim’s Arl was called Urien.”

            “Urien died at Ostagar,” Wynne corrects her. “He joined forces with King Cailan and met a rather unfortunate demise.”

            While the two women discuss politics, Lux trails off, to where Zevran is still talking to someone. This someone turns out to be a… rather well-endowed woman, clearly Rivaini in heritage judging by her appearance.

            “And who is this Zevran, your latest steal?” she asks, looking them over with a bemused expression. Lux suddenly feels very naked.

            “You two know each other, I presume?” they ask, rubbing the fabric of their sleeve between their fingers for lack of anything better to do.

            “Indeed,” Zevran answers with a flourish of his hand. “This is Isabela, queen of the eastern seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn. And Isabela, my dear, you will no doubt be amused to discover that I am travelling with Grey Wardens.”

            “Grey Wardens?” Her eyes almost seem to pierce through them with the intensity of her gaze. “Charmed.”

            Lux shuffles uneasily. “So, you are the captain of a ship?”

            The leering intensity shifts into a look of pride. “Yes. The Siren’s Call – my pride and joy. She’s seen me from my own Rivain and the isle of Llomerryn to the coast of Par Vollen. All I need is my ship, and the wind at my back.” She puts a hand to her chest. “And once my men have had their fill of the pleasures of dry land, we will be off again. We are getting as far away from this Blight as possible.” She smiles, looking from Lux to Zevran, and back to Lux. “Strong hands. Could I entice you to leave your Order and sign up as one of my crewmen? I could use those hands at my… helm.” Somehow, that did not sound like a sailing term at all.

            “I am more accustomed to landships,” they answer with an apologetic shrug. “I am afraid I would not be of much use out on the ocean.”

            “The ship is the best teacher. She will guide you with her sighs… her shudders, her gentle swaying as she rides the crests of the waves.” Is it just them, or is Zevran’s hand creeping further and further down their back? “When you become one with her…” Wait, since when is he touching them in the first place? “Instinct takes over.”

            They feel the heat in their ears and their cheeks as they cast their eyes down. “I-I am afraid I am bound to my duty.”

            “But did you not say we had the rest of this day off?” Zevran’s arm slips around their waist, pulling them closer. “I guarantee you, you would not want to miss what is below her deck…”

            “What about you, Zev?” Isabela puts a hand in her side. “Shall we, for old times’ sake?”

            “I would not decide anything without the approval of our fearless leader.” He gently turns them to face him. “What say you? Shall we explore Isabela’s… ship together?”

            Lux’s lips feel dry as they speak. “I need you to speak plainly to me. Are you… propositioning me?”

            “Only if that is what you want from us, darling.” Isabela draws closer, brushing the back of her hand against their upper arm. They shiver involuntarily, then look around them. The rest of their friends have returned, chatting amicably as Tori waves around a new dagger she ‘found’. None of them seem to pay any mind to their trio.

            They look back up at Zevran, then at Isabela, and take a deep breath. Well, why not, right?

            “I would love to, captain.”

 

“Ten gold says they’re having sex,” Rose says offhandedly as they leave the Pearl. When they had tried to get Lux and Zevran to leave, the Dalish elf had waved them off, too engaged in their conversation with a beautiful woman to pay them further mind.

            “I’ll take that bet,” Tori replies with a smirk. “Dalish has got to remove that stick up their ass first, that’ll take a while. No way they’re gonna have sex with an assassin and a pirate.”

            “Wait, what are we betting on?” Alistair asks, looking between the both of them confusedly.

            Falon whines sadly as he leaves his owner behind, trotting after Sten as per their instructions.

 

The two of them return by nightfall, both smiling and refusing to talk about anything that happened. Tori begrudgingly presses ten coins into Rose’s hand as they pass.


	24. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late again! i started work last week, so ill be changing my posting schedule to mondays, wednesdays and fridays, taking the weekends off  
> also, im nearly done writing this story (i am about 20 chapters ahead of what im posting rn), and just wanted to let you know, i'll definitely be writing more in this setting after im finished with this! im definitely gonna do awakenings, and will also post some dragon age 2 and inquisition content - the wardens wont just sit back and let the world go on around them without acting. definitely still gonna stick to the original storylines of the sequels, but therell be some adjusting to account for the presence of the wardens
> 
> anyway, thats all - ill let you get back to the story (:

Once again, they set out by morning. Bodahn has traded away some of their goods, including a lot of extra, unneeded weaponry and armour, for more rations, potions and other things they were lacking. Lux has kept one of the extra longswords, though, strapping it to their back alongside their staff.

            The road to Bann Telmen’s lands is uneventful, to the point where, when they get to the edge of the battlefield, near everyone is yearning for a good fight. They join the Bann’s men in defeating Loghain’s soldiers, who fall under their attacks, unprepared for their sudden arrival. The soldiers are grateful to them, and a reward is promised the next time they come to Denerim.

            As they make camp, a few days into their journey, Morrigan approaches Lux, gesturing them towards her little corner. She’s always sat rather secluded from the rest of the group – they’ve never paid a mind to it, however. They understand the need for solace at times.

            “I have been studying Mother’s grimoire,” she says. Lux looks up with interest. They had almost forgotten about the little, black book they retrieved for her. “Do you wish to hear what I have found?”

            They nod. “Tell me.”

            “‘Tis… Not what I expected. I had hoped for a collection of her spells, a map of the power she commands. But this is not it.”

            “Yet, you look disturbed,” they point out, watching how her face changes.

            “Disturbed?” She sighs. “Yes, perhaps that is the right word. One thing in particular in her writing disturbs me.” She opens the tome, tracing her finger across a particular page. “Here, in great detail, Flemeth explains the means by which she has survived for centuries.”

            “ _Asha’bellanar_ ,” they say quietly. The woman of a thousand years. “Is it a spell of immortality?” Elven magics, perhaps, or a curse, like Zathrian had used. They wish this sounded new to them.

            “If only ‘twere so.” Morrigan stares off into the fire for a while, quiet. Lux doesn’t press, just stays silent with her, until she speaks again. “Flemeth has raised many daughters over her long lifetime. There are stories of many Witches of the Wild through Chasind legend, yet I have never seen one, and always wondered why not.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, then glances sideways at them. “And now I know,” she says softly. “They are all Flemeth. When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes her daughter’s body for her own.”

            Lux sucks in a sharp breath and nods. “So, what do you intend to do about it?” they ask, already knowing the answer.

            “There is only one possible response to this.” Morrigan’s eyes are cold. “Flemeth needs to die. I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled. Flemeth _must_ be slain.” She sighs and bows her head. “And I need your help to do it.”

            Lux reaches over and touches her hand. “I will help you, if I can.”

            Surprise is clearly shown in her eyes as she looks at them, pulling her hand back slightly. However, relief is also there, in her voice as she speaks. “Then what needs to be done is for you to go back to Flemeth’s hut in the Korcari Wilds… without me.”

            Lux opens their mouth to reply, to protest, but she shakes her head.

            “If I am present when she is slain, I cannot be certain that she will not be able to possess my body right then. So I must remain at camp. Confront her and slay her quickly. I doubt she will truly be dead, even then, but it will take her years to find a new host and recover her power… if that is even possible.” She frowns. “The thing I must have is her true grimoire. With it, I can defend against her power in the future. Everything else in her hut is yours.”

            “I will see what I can do,” they say with a nod.

            A smile creeps across her face. “I am grateful. The sooner this can be done, the sooner it will set my mind at ease.”

            That… actually reminds them of something they wanted to ask her. “You are a shapeshifter, correct?” they ask.

            Morrigan nods. “I am.”

            “How did you become one?” They have heard of such magics before; they are not as uncommon outside of the Chantry’s laws. However, they have never talked to one before.

            “I was not born such,” she answers, a hint of pride in her voice. “‘Tis a skill of Flemeth’s, taught over many years in the Wilds.” She smirks briefly. “The Chasind have tales of we witches, saying we assume the forms of creatures to watch them from hiding. When a child is alone and separate from his tribe, that is when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured. A most amusing legend.”

            Lux laughs and shakes their head. “The humans have similar legends about us Dalish.”

            Morrigan smiles. “We are not so different, you and I. Why do you ask? Is there something specific you wish to know?”

            “Can anyone become a shapechanger?”

            “Anyone with sufficient will.” She looks down at them with appreciation. “Do you wish to learn?”

            Lux shrugs. “I thought it would be convenient to have a quick form of travel, if I wished to pay a visit to your Mother without the rest noticing.”

            Morrigan stands up, extending a hand towards them. “I can teach you. Come, we will seek a place a little more secluded.”

 

“Here, look at this.” Alistair waves her closer, and Rose approaches with curiosity. “Do you know what this is?”

            “Your… new weapon of choice?” She looks at the dried rose in his hand with bemusement.

            “Yes, that’s right.” He grins and sticks it out in front of him like a sword. “Watch as I trash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!” His hand drops. “Or, you know, it could just be a rose. I know that’s pretty dull in comparison.”

            Rose shrugs and hums. “Sentiment can be a pretty potent weapon.”

            “Is it that easy to see right through me?” The tips of his ears turn faintly red. Rose studies them with a faint smile. They’re faintly pointed at the tip, it’s very cute. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he continues with a laugh. “I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, ‘How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?’ I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it.” He gestures vaguely with the flower. “So I’ve had it ever since.”

            She smiles at him. “That’s a nice sentiment.”

            “I thought that I might…” He clears his throat, looking down. “Give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

            “Feeling a little thorny, are we?” she teases.

            Alistair laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. ‘She’ll never see through that,’ I told myself. Boy was I wrong.”

            She gently takes the rose from him. “Thank you, Alistair. That’s a lovely thought.”

            He looks at her with a mixture of embarrassment and affection. “I’m glad you like it. I was just thinking… here I am, doing all this complaining, and you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You’ve had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining, barely a word of thanks or congratulation. It’s been a lot of death and fighting and tragedy…” He gestures at her. “You never even got your new robes! So, I thought, maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness.”

            Rose gives him a genuine smile, holding the rose close to her chest. “I feel the same way about you, you know.”

            “I’m glad. Now…” He shuffles his feet and laughs. “If we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I’d appreciate that.”

            She laughs as well, pushing his chest. “And you were doing so well, too.”

            “Oh? Your loss then.” He waggles his eyebrows. “All the ladies go on and on about how suave I am. I don’t know how you can resist me like you do.” He glances up. “Oh, look, is that a cloud? I expect rain. Ho-hum.”

            “You’re so cute when you’re bashful,” she says, enjoying the way that makes the redness spread.

            “I’ll be…” He gestures vaguely. “I’ll be standing over here. Until the blushing stops. Just to be, uh, safe. You know how it is.”

            She watches as he walks away, slightly unsteady, and tucks the rose away carefully.

 

Tori catches up with Zevran as they walk, tucking her hands beside her back. “Care to answer some questions?”

            He laughs up at her. “If this is about me and your Dalish friend… well, I do not kiss and tell.”

            “I don’t believe that for a second. Anyway, do you actually enjoy being an assassin?”

            Zevran shrugs. “And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected, you are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part…” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “Well, some people just need assassinating. Do you disagree?”

            Tori thinks back to life in the Alienage. The human men that came and went as they pleased. Shianni’s body, broken and violated on the floor. “No, I agree.”

            “Good. As far as the act of killing itself – why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing their life is in your hands.”

            Vaughan’s head, on the floor. A river of blood following at her heels. “I understand.”

            “There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules… oh, the rules!” He pulls a face. “But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?”

            “I suppose not,” she replies with a laugh. “Could… could you teach others?”

            He cocks his head at her. “You wish to become an assassin? I am no Crow master, but… there are some skills I could teach you, if you wish.”

            “I would like that.”

 

As they cross through Sulcher’s Pass, a group of darkspawn swarms them. Having sensed them beforehand, however, they quickly gain the upper hand and defeat them. A merchant, grateful for his rescue, hands over what he claims is a golem control rod in thanks, and the location of the golem itself: a small village nearby called Honnleath. Figuring it will be as good a place as any to camp and rest up, they set off in that direction.

            The village is overrun, however, and they need to cut through a large swath of darkspawn on their way in. Most of the villagers they find are dead – the others they discover huddled up in a building, behind a protective barrier. They are let through after defeating the fiends in the building, and Rose immediately starts up a conversation with the man in charge about the golem and the command word. After a while, she turns to the rest.

            “His daughter escaped further down into the building. Who wants to come help me find her? It’s going to be dangerous.”

            “I’m game,” Tori offers, raising her hand. Zevran and Alistair volunteer as well, while the rest opt to stay behind, to help clear out last pockets of darkspawn in the village and aid the injured.

            Lux finds a young woman sitting by herself in a corner. She draws away from them, but they persist, crouching down beside her.

            “I can make it quick for you,” they say softly, pushing some strands of hair away from her face. The Taint has already set in, darkening the skin, thinning the hair. She looks up at them with sunken eyes, and wordlessly nods.

            Sten helps them carry the body out, putting it on the quickly-erected funeral pyre the villagers have helped them put together. They watch the flames roar up towards the sky, fingers pressing against the scarring on the left side of their face, the skin that didn’t quite grow back right. No one should have to suffer that fate.


	25. Mountain Air

Rose and Tori join them at the frozen golem in the middle of the courtyard, the former waving the rod around at them. “We’ve got the new command word!” she says happily.

            “How did you get it?” they question, still staring up at the thing. It’s huge, they’ve never seen anything quite like it.

            “Just defeated a cat demon,” Tori answers, and now they look away, frowning at her.

            “… Excuse me?” They must have misheard.

            Rose sighs and shakes her head. “I truly wish she was kidding. But no, we did in fact have to fight a cat demon. Or, well, a demon disguising herself as a cat.”

            “I wish I could have seen it. So, now you can control this golem?”

            “We’ll find out.”

 

Control… seems to have been a big word. The golem comes alive, certainly, but it does not respond to any of Rose’s commands. The thing calls itself Shale, and tells them of its former master, who experimented on it, after which it killed him.

            All in all, probably not the strangest companion they’ve taken along.

            From Honnleath, they travel past Redcliffe, where they resupply and prepare for a trek up the mountains. It is there that Lux suggests a day or two pause before they head on.

            “Why?” Tori questions over a pint of ale. “We need to save Eamon, remember?”

            “And two days will not make much of a difference in his condition. I wish to scout ahead first, establish if the road up to Orzammar is safe. Now that three of the parties we have petitioned for aid have had so much trouble, I am less than optimistic about the last.”

            “So you’re gonna hike up the mountains by yourself while we wait here? You’re never going to reach Orzammar in a day, that’s bullshit!” She starts to grab for a map, but before she can, Lux shrinks down in her seat. A few seconds later, a crow hops onto the table, cocking its head at her. “Ah, Maker’s balls, really?” She looks over at Morrigan and calls, “Really?”

            Lux transforms back into their elven form, landing back on their chair with a smile. “Morrigan and I can travel fast. It won’t be more than a day’s worth travel.”

 

Tori is effectively out-voted by dinner, and Lux and Morrigan set out to make preparations before nightfall. By dawn, they say goodbye to their friends, and both shift into the forms of birds, taking off into the sky.

            Flight is… exhilarating. In their normal form, Lux has always been kind of… scared of heights, never joining the other children when they climbed the highest trees, but here in the air, supported by their own wings, that fear does not bother them at all.

            They land near the top of the Frostback mountainpass, electing to walk the last bit so as not to scare people by turning back within their sights. As they head for the merchant stalls, a group of armoured men and women intersect them.

            “About time a Grey Warden showed up!” one calls. “Loghain sends his regards!”

            Lux rolls their eyes at Morrigan, who smirks and draws her staff. Lux draws their blade instead, and waits. The ball of flame hits right in the centre of the group, sending many of them flying. They charge in to pick the ones off that survive, blade shimmering with arcane energy as it slices through their foes. As they finish with the last one, they turn to find Morrigan watching them with approval.

            “You are getting better at that,” she remarks. Lux blushes, and doesn’t answer, just giving her a slight smile as they walk up the path.

 

Convincing Faryn to give them the current whereabouts of Sten’s sword is not hard at all. The two of them loom over him, making quiet threats until he splutters out that he sold the thing to a Dwyn, in Redcliffe. Lux pats him on the shoulder as they leave, shaking their head.

            “Well, at least we were heading back there anyhow,” they mutter, frustrated. “Wish we did not have to come all the way up here to find out, though.”

            “Let us at least find out the information we need about Orzammar, before your fellow Wardens get on your case,” Morrigan suggests. They nod, and head for the gates of the city.

            “ _Veata!_ ” a dwarven guard calls out. “This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time.”

            A human man, dressed in finery, scoffs back at him. “King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr, or lords, or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger.”

            “I don’t care if you’re the king’s wiper,” the dwarf responds, “Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.”

            Lux frowns and steps forwards. “Pardon me? What exactly is going on in Orzammar right now? We have business there in the near future.”

            The human sneers at them. “None more important than mine.”

            The dwarf turns to look at them. “Orzammar has no king at this moment. Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war.

            “I am a Grey Warden,” they reply, taking the treaty out of their bag. “This obliges Orzammar to aid us in the Blight.”

            The human man sputters. “The Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden! They’re sworn enemies of King Loghain!”

            The guard looks over the treaty, then gives it back with a solemn nod. “Well, that _is_ the royal seal. That means only the Assembly is authorised to address it. Grey Warden, you may pass whenever you wish.”

            “You’re letting in a traitor?” the human asks incredulously. “And a foreigner? In the name of King Loghain, I demand that you execute this… stain on the honour of Ferelden!”

            “Run to your false king,” Lux scoffs, glaring at him. “The dwarves will not hear him today.”

            He pales. “You… you’ll hear of this. King Loghain will see you quartered!” He storms off angrily, entourage in tow. They turn to the dwarven guard and give him a respectful nod.

            “We will come back soon. Hopefully, by then the matter is resolved. If not, we might be able to assist – though I am not certain what help we can be.”

            They bid the man farewell, and walk back down the mountainpath. Once they’re out of sight, both of them take to the skies.

 

“Your sword is here. In Redcliffe.” They don’t want to say Sten jumps as they materialise out from the air next to him, because he’s too stoic for that, but he definitely almost does. He turns around to face them, and they smile. “Want to join me in finding it?”

            They walk down to the docks together, finding Dwyn’s house with relative ease. He does not want to give up the sword readily, but with Sten looming behind them, and their reputation in the village, he agrees to hand it over.

            As they wander back, they hand Sten the sword with a smile. He holds it, looking it over with admiration, before he looks down on them. “Strange,” he notes. “I had almost forgotten it. Completion.” A tone of amusement tinges his voice. “Are you sure you are a Grey Warden? I think you must be an ashkaari to find a single lost blade in a country at war.”

            They smile wider. “You are welcome, my friend.”

            “I would thank you for this, if I knew how,” he muses, sheathing the sword. “And I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the arishok’s question if the Blight were ended, don’t you agree?”

            Lux nods. “Absolutely.”

            He actually smiles at them faintly. “Then lead the way.”

 

Then, finally, they prepare to go up the mountain, to Haven. They have to leave Bodahn and Sandal behind; the cart is not at all suited to travel into the mountains, and they don’t want to risk it. So they pack up all their necessities, trying to carry as little as possible. The mages each have a pack of ingredients to brew potions on the road, and everyone else only carries one or two extra weapons each.

            “With the way Tori loots,” Rose reasons, “you can pick up plenty from the road as well.”

            The way up is especially tough for some people – a lot of their companions have never traversed mountains before. Lux and Sten often find themselves taking the lead, guiding their party along treacherous passes, pointing out the best traversed paths up.

            It takes them the better part of a week, but the village of Haven finally begins to come within sight. It looks cold and desolate, especially compared to the bustling village of Redcliffe that they just left behind them. They make camp by the foot of the path up, shivering in the cold.

            “You have an interesting strategy,” Sten notes. “Tell me: Do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the archdemon from the rear?”

            Lux shrugs and smiles. “It will never see that coming.

            They can see him fighting back a smile. “Truly. It would surprise me if my enemy counter-attacked by running away and climbing a mountain.”

            “We are not ‘running away’ from anything.”

            “The archdemon is our goal,” he replies. “And we are heading away from it. To find the charred remains of a dead woman. You haven’t thought this through.”

            They frown. “Consider this training for what is to come.” They, too, had not been in favour of putting Eamon in front of Orzammar, but they understand the need for the Arl’s armies now better than ever. With a decimated Circle and a recovering clan of Dalish elves the only promised aid up until now, they need all the help they can get.

            “There is only so much one can prepare, kadan.” His voice becomes softer. “Eventually, one must simply step forward and accept what comes.” He looks down at them with gentle eyes. “I trust you with my life. But this is not my life at risk. It is our goal.”

            “I know. I do not intend to fail, Sten.”

            Sten shakes his head. “Be careful, kadan. I have spoken my mind. Let us waste no more time on this subject.”

            Lux nods with a smile. “Then, may I ask a question?”

            “Ask.”

            “What does ‘ _kadan_ ’ mean? I have heard the word before, in your dream, but…”

            “It is a term the Qunari use for people that are close to them.”

            Lux ducks their head, red colouring their cheeks. “I do not know what to say.”

            “Then be quiet, kadan,” he replies, amused. “Do your Dalish have a word for such a thing?”

            “We use ‘ _lethallin_ ’ for our brethren, the people we are close to. Our… kinsmen, I suppose is a good word. Does ‘ _kadan_ ’ have a literal meaning in your tongue?”

            “The place where the heart lies.”

            “We have a term in elven, ‘ _ma vhenan_ ’, my heart. Though it is used more in a romantic sense.”

            “You are welcome to call me whatever you want,” Sten rumbles, putting a hand on their shoulder. “I take no offense.”

            “Very well, _ma vhenan_.” They smile and huddle up better into their blanket. “I suppose we should go to sleep. We do not know what Haven has in store for us. Not an archdemon, though. Definitely not that.” They fall quiet for a moment, then look at Sten again. “Say, in your language, is there-”

            “Go to sleep, kadan.” Sten puts an arm around them and pulls them closer, decisively. They chuckle softly, and oblige, closing their eyes.

            “Good night, Sten.”

            “Good night.”


	26. Guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im still alive!!  
> so sorry for this long hiatus, ive had so much stress, been in between laptops and just generally havent been doing great. i hope to get back on schedule soon - in the meantime, im gonna upload three chapters as an apology!

“What are you doing in Haven?” The guard at the end of the path crosses his arms, glaring down at them. “There is nothing for you here.”

            Lux exchanges a glance with their fellow Wardens. This is odd already. “We have business here,” they answer.

            “No, you do not. I would have been informed if someone was expecting a visitor.”

            Rose speaks up, “Is there a Brother Genitivi here?”

            “Who?” He gives her a wary and confused look. “Perhaps Revered Father Eirik will know of whom you speak. Unfortunately, he is ministering to the villagers at the moment, and cannot be disturbed.”

            “Revered Father?” Leliana frowns. “I have never heard of this.” Lux tilts their head, questioning her with a look. Do men not become leaders of Chantries?

            “It has always been thus in Haven,” the guard replies, voice curt and defensive. “We do not question tradition.”

            Rose bows her head. “Very well. Excuse me.”

            “You may trade for supplies at the shop if you wish. Then I suggest you and your companions leave.” He gives them a dismissive look, then walks off.

            “Ah, quiet, insular communities,” Zevran remarks with a wry grin. “There’s always something nasty going on behind closed doors.”

            “You always think there’s something nasty going on behind closed doors,” Wynne replies with a scoff.

            “That’s because there often is.” Zevran winks at her. “I hope it involves chains. I hope they ask me to join in.”

            Lux rolls their eyes and shoves him with an elbow. He smirks and ruffles up their hair.

            Rose clears her throat. “Back to the matter at hand, I think this will require some exploration. I will take some people and have a look at the store. Tori, can you, Leliana and Zevran sneak up ahead, see if you cannot find any other villagers? Morrigan and Lux, take a look around town, something doesn’t feel right around here.”

            “Who put you in charge?” Tori questions with a laugh, but she jerks her head at the two other rogues, going further down the path. Lux whistles at Falon, and he joins Morrigan and them as they make a round through the village.

            “In here,” Morrigan mutters as they pass by a house near the village entrance. “I saw something through the window…”

            The door is unlocked, the house desolate. What immediately catches their attention, however, is a slab of stone in the middle of the room, a thick, red liquid pooling in the centre. Their face twists in disgust, but they approach nonetheless.

            “Blood,” they murmur. Falon bounds up to try and lick it, but they hold the mabari back by the scruff of his neck.

            “That is human blood,” Morrigan notes with a frown. Lux blinks and shoots her a look.

            “How do you know?”

            “I just do. I also know that no one can lose that much blood, and live.”

            “A fair point. Let us find out what else lurks in this village.”

 

They meet the others back in the middle of the square. Rose’s face is pale.

            “Well, we found one of Eamon’s knights,” she says, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “He’d been… well. It wasn’t pretty.”

            Tori sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth. “The other villagers seem to be in the Chantry. We didn’t wanna get too close.”

            “We found an altar used for blood magic, most likely.” They both turn to stare at Lux, who simply shrugs. “Considering what I have seen so far, I am no longer surpri- Tori, duck!”

            Tori’s quick reflexes help her dodge a crossbow bolt that shoots through the air, landing a few metres away. She turns around with a snarl, and that is when the rest of them see the armed villagers headed straight for them.

            “Well, that’s bad,” Rose says, and draws her staff. “Try to knock them out, not kill them! They might be under the thrall of blood magic.”

            With their combined efforts, they manage to knock out most of them. However, trying to convey the concept of ‘non-lethally’ to a stone golem proves to be quite complex. The group relieves the villagers of their weaponry, piling whatever they don’t need up in the backroom of the store, then they head up to the Chantry.

            There’s a sermon in progress when they enter. To Lux, it all sounds like a load of halla shit, but even they notice this feels different than other Chantries they’ve been to. The robed man who delivers the prayer notices them in the middle of a sentence, and raises his hands to them in welcome.

            “Ah… welcome. I heard we had visitors wandering about the village. I trust you’ve enjoyed your time in Haven so far?”

            Tori scoffs. “Your people aren’t very welcoming.”

            “What sort of welcome do you expect when you break into our homes and kill one of us?” He gestures at the people gathered in the room. “You see? This is why we do not like ‘visitors’.” He says the word with scorn. “They are not like us. They will do us harm if we let them.”

            “What have you done to Brother Genitivi?” Rose questions.

            “We don’t owe you any explanations for our actions. We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin.” His hands rise a little higher. “All will be forgiven.” He looks down upon his people with a smile. “Brothers, you know what must be done.”

            More villagers rise to attack them. Lux feels heavily conflicted as a young man tries to get at them with a dagger, as an elder woman lifts up a blade that looks too long for her frail arms. Tori is the one to vault over the altar, striking down the Revered Father, and the others are quickly dispatched. As Leliana comes over, closing the eyes of those that have fallen, Lux turns away, muttering a prayer of their own.

            Rose and Alistair return a few minutes after they left, carrying a man between them. He looks bad off, but hope glimmers in his eyes.

            “This is Brother Genitivi,” Rose says. “He can lead us to the Urn. Anyone find a medallion on Eirik?”

            Tori nods, holding it up by the cord.

            “Yes, that is your key,” Genitivi says. “Take me to the mountainside, and I will show you.”

 

Alistair assists Genitivi in getting to the door. He takes the medallion, fiddling with it. It springs open under his fingers, and presses it into an indentation in the door, which swings open.

            “This is amazing,” Rose murmurs. “I wonder who built all this…” Leliana echoes the sentiment, her face as ecstatic as Genitivi’s. As they enter, his eyes tear up.

            “What I would give to have seen this hall in all its splendour, as it was meant to be… still, sweep away the ice and the snow, and traces of beauty remain.”

            “We can’t afford to linger,” Tori says, impatient.

            “I’m sorry… what?” He blinks and shakes his head. “I was a little distracted. I apologise.” He gestures at the walls. “These carvings were created just after Andraste’s death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know…” He looks around, then looks at Tori. “I think I need more time to study these statues and carvings.”

            “Are you certain it will be safe here?” Lux questions with a worried frown. They’d hate for them to rescue this man, only to have him die at some villagers’ hands.

            Genitivi gives them a handwave. “I could not keep up with you with my injuries. I should be safe; I don’t think there are any villagers here. Go. I will be alright. Perhaps my destiny was only to lead you to the Urn.”

            Lux sighs and inclines their head, then turns to the rest. “I am conflicted. Should we leave someone with him?”

            “We could leave Shale with him,” Rose suggests tentatively. “I don’t know…”

            “Do you want that?” they ask, looking up at the golem, who shrugs dismissively. “Well, alright then. Shale, protect this man.”

            “As you say,” it intones in a nasal, bored voice.

 

It takes them a bit of figuring out, a lot of walking around and a lot more fighting with cultists to open the main door, but they eventually figure it out. These cultists are better armed than the villagers outside, and they no longer bother incapacitating them – both sides fight to kill.

            Behind the door, the room splits into the right and left. Alistair takes half of the party into the eastern corridor, while Lux, Rose and Tori follow Sten down the western one.

            Of course, this turns out to be a bad idea as Tori insists on opening a collection of chests, and more ash wraiths spring from them, trapping them in a small room.

            While Rose heals their burns, the rogue tries to peek into the now opened chests. Lux drags her back by the collar of her armour, sighing.

            The corridor leads to a set of stairs, where they meet back up with the rest of the group. It looks like they also did not get through without resistance, but none of them are too bad off, so they press on. The surroundings start to resemble a temple less and less – it now looks more like underground caverns. Lux, used to fresh air and sky above their head, feels the walls close in on them, but grits their teeth and pushes through.

            It is not only cultists that assault them now, but also small, lizard-like creatures.

            “Are those fucking dragons?” Tori asks as she kicks the corpse of one with a frown.

            “Very small ones, but yeah, I think so,” Rose answers, crouching down. “But if they’re here, that means…”

            “Dragon!” Lux calls out from the back of the group. They whip around to face the creature with their sword, but it topples them over with a snarl, bounding towards the group. The thing is wingless, and from what they have read about dragons, that must mean it’s a male – it’s vicious, however, and it takes a good while for them to put it down.

            Lux crouches down beside the corpse, a hand trailing over the scales.

            “Beautiful creature,” they murmur. “I wonder… I can probably skin this thing. Might work as armour, if we find the right person…”

            “Maybe after we find the Urn?” Rose suggests tentatively. “I’m sure it’ll still be there.”

            They sigh and stand up with a nod. “Lead on, then.”

 

They come across a hatchery, guarded by more cultists. Heavy with the realisation that this means there is definitely a full-grown dragon somewhere around here, they move on quickly, not keen on coming to its attention.

            Of course, that plan becomes moot when the gong rings out. There’s a loud roar and the flapping of wings as the mother dragon takes to the skies, circling above them before coming down with a blast of flame.

            “Did you have to do that?” Tori calls out, circling around to its flank as it lands. “Did you really?”

            “I was curious to see what would happen!” Rose yells back, an arcane shield shimmering around her. “I thought it had something to do with-”

            “Save the excuses for when it’s dead, please!”

            The fight is tougher than any of them have had, ever. Most of them come close to dying at various points during the battle – at some point, Leliana gets pinned under one of its massive legs and it’s only due to Sten ramming it to the side that her head is not bitten clean off. Rose and Wynne do their best to imbue the rest of them with cleansing and healing energy, but it’s hardly enough against this giant of a creature.

            A claw lashes out at Rose, and she takes it, teeth gritted. Her forearms burst open with bleeding gashes. Lux is about to rush to her aid, when the look in her eyes changes. The blood from her wounds doesn’t drip to the ground – instead, it swirls up around her arms in a slow spiral as she stares straight at the dragon. Suddenly, it howls in pain, shaking its head viciously back and forth. They slowly look at Rose, who has a slight smile creeping up her face.

            Taking advantage of this distraction, Tori swings herself up on the lashing tail, using her swords to create handholds for herself as she climbs the beast. She gets all the way to the neck before she gets dislodged, but manages to dig her swords into the neck, and the growls die down into wet gurgles. Alistair manages to catch her as it goes down, rolling away to avoid being crushed by its weight.

            Lux glances at Rose, who’s already busy healing up her own wounds, with a newfound respect. She also hopes no one else noticed that incident; she knows a lot of their companions would have something or the other to say about that kind of magic.

            After dissuading them once again from trying to skin the dragon, they cross the yard, up to the next section of the temple. As they come to the giant, double doors, the group stops, staring up.

            “I don’t know what we’ll face inside,” Rose murmurs, “but rest assured it will not be easy.”

            “We just killed a big-ass fucking dragon,” Tori notes, moving to push open the doors. “I think we can handle whatever remains inside.”


	27. Sacred

The doors open into a chamber, where an armoured man greets them. Only, he’s not a man, per se. Lux notices the underlying shimmer to him, like he’s not completely present in this world.

            “I bid you welcome, pilgrim,” he says, his voice echoing in the hall.

            “Who are you?” Rose asks curiously.

            “I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have waited years for this.”

            “For someone to take the Ashes?”

            “No one can take the ashes. They belong here. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea.”

            “Will your task ever be done?”

            “I do not know, and I do not question.”

            Rose sighs and nods. “How do we get to the Urn?”

            “You have come to honour Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy.”

            “We need the Ashes to cure a noble man,” Tori says, arms crossed.

            “Still, you must prove yourself worthy,” the guardian replies patiently. “It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not…” He trails off.

            Rose nods again. “Are we allowed to rest here for a moment?”

            “You may.” He extends a hand. “Rest here, and come to me once you believe to be ready.”

 

They all settle down in the hall, patching up wounds and downing potions. Wynne and Rose go around the room to heal the most grave of injuries. Afterwards, they too sit down to rest up for a bit.

            Lux finds themselves in a small group with Rose and Tori. The latter is still busy scrubbing dragon blood off of her sleeve. They stare out at the walls and roof of the temple, quiet, until Rose speaks up.

            “How does this feel for you?” she asks, and they turn their head to look at her. “I mean, you don’t believe in, like, the Maker and Andraste, right?”

            “I don’t,” Tori mutters.

            Lux hums. “Not… not in that sense, no. We have our own Gods we believe in, after all. I am uncertain what gives the Ashes their healing powers, but I do not believe it is your Maker or his wife.”

            “What do you believe in, exactly?” Tori asks. “I mean, I know you guys got like, multiple gods, but like…”

            They smile. “Do you want to hear about the Elven Pantheon?”

            She shrugs, but Rose’s eyes light up. “I’d love to hear it, for one. I mean, I also don’t really believe… And there weren’t a lot of books in the Circle about your people, and the elves that were there did not usually know much.” She sits up a bit straighter. “I know there’s a Pantheon and that your deities embody different, like, concepts, and that your face markings represent those gods, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.”

            “Oh, that’s why your faces are painted?” Tori hums. “I thought it was just to make yourselves stand out from us poor city elves.”

            “They are not painted, they are tattooed.” Lux’s fingers trace the lines of their own vallaslin. “When a Dalish elf is considered mature enough, they receive the vallaslin of a chosen deity. It signifies the passing into adulthood, to be able to withstand the pain.”

            “Sounds… painful,” Tori says.

            Lux shrugs. “It is. But it is an honour. Mine are those of Falon’din. The friend of the dead, he is the one that guides souls in their passing,” they explain. “His brother is Dirthamen, the keeper of secrets. They are the eldest sons of the leaders of the pantheon, Elgar’nan, the All-father, god of vengeance and the Sun, and Mythal, the Protector and All-mother, goddess of motherhood and justice.” They give the two a moment to let the knowledge sink in, before they continue. “Andruil is goddess of the hunt, and her sister, Sylaise is the Hearthkeeper, goddess of domestic arts. June is the master of crafts, the creator of weapons. Ghilan’nain, Mother of Halla, is the goddess of navigation. And of course, there is Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, the trickster, the betrayer God.”

            “D’you worship him as well?” Tori asks. “I’ve mostly heard you curse with him.”

            “There are no vallaslin dedicated to him, nor do we pray to him, but we keep statues of him at the edges of camp, and acknowledge him, for we do not want to anger the trickster god.”

            “Sounds like just more out-dated myths, if you ask me.” Tori gets up. “We should go find those Ashes.”

            “I would ask of you,” the Guardian says, “that no more than six of you go. The rest will be allowed to await you here in safety.”

            They exchange a wordless look with the others as they get up. “The Wardens should go, at least,” Lux says, burying their fingers in Falon’s fur. “That makes four.”

            “If it’s not too much trouble, I would love to go,” Leliana requests, and they nod.

            “I understand.”

            “Well, someone has to watch your backs,” Zevran mutters, getting up. “Besides, I look forwards to being tested. So long as it’s not a written exam.”

            “We shall wait here,” Wynne says with a smile. “Please do try and come out relatively unscathed.”

            “No promises,” Tori says with a smirk, and steps towards the Guardian. The rest follow suit.

            “Before you go, there is something I must ask.” The Guardian fixes her with a look. “There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others. By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalised. You were too late. Tell me pilgrim, did you fail Shianni?”

            Tori’s voice quivers as she answers, her steadfast expression faltering. “I did. I should have been able to save her from that fate.”

            He turns towards Rose next, who straightens her back. “Jowan was discovered by templars. You were helping him. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?”

            Rose hesitates, then shakes her head. “The fault was his own. There was nothing more I could do.”

            As the Guardian’s eyes land on Lux, they shrink back a little. “You left Durwen to the darkspawn, running to save your own hide, not his. Tell me, did you fail Durwen?”

            “I did,” they answer quietly. “I should have gone back for him.”

            “And you.” The Guardian looks at Leliana. “Why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself Her equal?”

            “I never said that! I-”

            “In Orlais, you were someone. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister, and disappear. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticised you for what you professed, you were hurt, but also revelled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative.”

            That was… harsh. Leliana shakes her head, expression pained. “You’re saying I made it up, for… for the attention? I did not! I know what I believe!”

            The Guardian turns to Alistair without another word. “Alistair, knight and Warden… you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died, and not him?”

            Alistair sighs and lowers his head. “I… yes. If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I’d just had the chance, maybe…” He trails off, and Rose quietly grasps his hand.

            “And the Antivan elf…”

            Zevran sneers. “Is it my turn now? Hurrah. I’m so excited.”

            “Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of-”

            He doesn’t let the spirit finish. “How do you know about that?”

            “I know much; it is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret-”

            “Yes,” he near snarls. “The answer is yes, if that’s what you wish to know. I do. Now move on.”

            “The way is open.” The Guardian steps back. “Good luck, and may you find what you seek.”

 

The chamber they enter is long, and filled with ghostly figures. After talking to the first one, it becomes apparent that they all ask answers to riddles. Rose, eyes lighting up with delight, passes by each of them, answering all of their riddles correctly with only moments of hesitation with each. As she answers the last one, the doors at the end of the hall open up.

Lux steps through, and the world around them darkens a little, and suddenly they no longer see any of their companions. All they see is Durwen, standing in front of them, a warm smile on his face. Lux gasps, pressing a fist to their mouth.

            “ _Ma vhenan_. It has been a while. You cannot understand just how proud I am of you for making it this far.”

            “Durwen… _ir abelas, ma vhenan,_ I failed you, I left you…”

            “You need to stop grieving, my dearest. _Suledin_ , endure, and walk on, head held high. The Creators watch over you, always. And now, so do I.” He holds something out in his hands, and as they extend a hand to take it, he presses the amulet into their palm.

            “ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_ ,” they whisper as his form fades. They put the amulet around their neck, watching as the shapes of their companions slowly return. Rose looks pale, and Tori’s mouth is set into a straight line.

            “Let’s go,” she mutters, walking into the next room with determination. As she passes by them, they see the glimmer of a similar amulet around her neck.

 

The next room is… interesting. There is a shudder, and then the ghostly shapes of six spirits, identical to their group, spring to life and rush in to attack them. Lux grits their teeth as they take a fake-Tori dagger to the side, and blast it with fire.

            “I bet you’ve always wanted to do that!” the actual Tori calls from the other side of the room, where she’s busy cornering a fake-Zevran.

            Fake-Rose begins intoning a spell, but Alistair pulses with energy, negating the effect. This also has the unfortunate effect of nullifying their own streaks of flame, and they curse before switching out their staff for their sword, going after fake-Tori again. From across the room, the real Rose takes out a fake-Leliana, rescuing them from the onslaught of arrows constantly harassing them.

            The last of the fakes finally fall, and they are free to proceed. Tori scouts ahead into this room, and comes back with a frown.

            “Big gap in the floor. I think it’s some kinda puzzle? There were some tiles and you could step on them to make, like, blocks appear. I don’t know, I’m really, really bad at this.”

            They all go into the room now, and Rose holds everyone back while she reviews the situation. Then, she starts barking out orders.

            “Alistair, go stand on the furthest tile to the left.” “Leliana, take the second right tile.” “Zevran, go stand on the third left tile.”

            Lux watches how parts of the bridge become solid with amusement, then stares at the opposite side. Well, they might as well try. As Tori cautiously makes her way across the bridge, they swoop up in bird form, flapping across the divide. They can hear Rose’s voice down below, questioning their whereabouts, and then they land, shifting back.

            The entire bridge goes solid and Tori, who was standing on the second piece, yelps and falls backwards onto her butt.

            Rose fixes them with a disappointed stare, then shakes her head and starts walking across. “None of you guys appreciate some neat puzzles.”

 

“Do you still like ‘neat puzzles’?” Tori asks when they’ve all read the riddle atop the altar. Rose crosses her arms.

            “I mean, I get it? Like, a test of faith and all, but I still think this is highly inappropriate.”

            “I don’t know, I myself find it highly refreshing.” Zevran smirks as he starts stripping himself of his armour.

            Lux copies his movements quietly, wishing to just get this over with. They, however, cannot resist sneaking a little peek at their companions.

            Most of them seem scarred in one way or another, the signs of life on the road, battling darkspawn and other fiends.

Zevran has many scars all across his body, though a lot of them are covered up by swirling lines of ink, matching the tattoos on his face. Back in the low-lit cabin of Isabela’s ship, they hadn’t had the time to admire them – they do now, with a faint smile.

Leliana carries many scars of her own, suggesting a life before that in the Chantry.

Alistair has a few across his chest and back, though his tendency to wear heavy armour clearly pays off. His skin, light brown with small birthmarks here and there, is reasonably smooth.

Tori, on the contrary, has rough skin, mottled with smaller and larger scars all across. It seems life in the Alienage isn’t quite as easy as she tries to make it out to be.

            Rose is perhaps the least bad off of all of them, a rosy skin dappled with birthmarks left reasonably unmarred. The only signs are small, even lines across her forearms and thighs, speaking of intentional blood drawing of one shape or the other.

            Lux watches how their companions step through the fire, some with purpose and faith, others with looks of scepticism, mistrust. They step through last, closing their eyes and letting the fire consume them.

            They come before the great statue of Andraste herself, one stone hand holding out a bowl that must contain the Ashes. Leliana sinks shakily to her knees, head bowed, and Alistair follows. Rose simply looks back at the fire, then up at the statue, and bows her head, muttering something beneath her breath. Lux, Tori and Zevran exchange a glance, then start putting their armour back on, under the ever-watching guidance of the Lady that none of them really believe in, but whose presence is still felt in this entire chamber.


	28. A Town Restored

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i posted 3 new chapters today, so dont forget to go back to chapter 26 if you havent already!!

Leliana is the one to take a pinch of the ashes, folding it into a cloth bag and tucking it away into her bag with a reverent expression on her face. They exit the temple under the watchful eyes of the Guardian, their quest completed.

            They pass by the slain body of the dragon once more, and Lux drops their pack, drops their staff, and draws their sword.

            “Dibs on that armour,” Tori mutters, and goes over to help.

            It takes some doing, but they manage to relieve the dragon of most of its intact hide. They repeat the process for the dead drakes, stuffing all the hide into large packs that Sten and Alistair offer to carry.

            They find Genitivi and Shale back in the great hall. The man looks up, eyes wide. “Welcome back! You were gone for quite some time.” He steps towards them. “Well? Did you find it?”

            “Yes, we found the Urn,” Rose answers with a smile.

            Genitivi immediately draws her into an enthusiastic conversation, that Leliana is quick to join. Wynne, eager to learn more, joins them, hanging onto every word.

            Lux trails behind, fingers curling around the amulet Durwen had given them. As Tori shirks up beside them, they notice she does the same.

            “Durwen, what was he like?” she asks quietly, eyes dark.

            Lux manages a weak smile. “He was like the sun to me.”

            Tori nods quietly. “That guard dude sure know where to hit us the hardest, huh?”

            “You could say that. Shianni was your cousin, correct?”

            “Did the red hair give us away?” Tori laughs. “Yeah, she is. Me, her and Soris were thick as thieves as children. Still are, I mean, despite the whole Grey Warden thing.”

            “I am sorry for what happened to her. And- and to you of course…”

            “Yeah, no, I didn’t have it nearly as bad, don’t even worry. Shianni, though…” Tori balls her fists. “If I could resurrect that asshole Vaughan and kill him a thousand times over, I’d do it.”

            “I would be glad to offer some suggestions.”

            Tori laughs, and bumps into Lux briefly with her shoulder. “Thanks, Dalish. Y’know, I was pretty mad, at first, when y’all didn’t even step in to help. But I understand now.”

            “Our hands were tied. Nevertheless, I am sorry your husband had to die.”

            Tori shoves them. “Fiancé! Fiancé, not husband. And yeah, I’m sorry too. He was a good guy. Not my type, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

            “What is your type?” they ask curiously. While Rose has been very obviously flirting with Alistair, and they’ve been… getting along with both Zevran _and_ Morrigan quite well, they don’t think they’ve seen Tori express any interest in any of their companions beside friendliness.

            Tori shrugs. “Uh, no one, really. ‘M asexual and aromantic. None of that relationship shit for me.” Her shoulders tense a little, like she’s expecting a bad reaction.

            Lux hums. “That explains a lot. Well, at least one of us has their head set on straight.” They give a self-deprecating smirk, and Tori lets out a startled laugh.

            “Yeah, suppose so. No one will distract me from Grey Warden duties!”

            “You seem pretty distracted right now,” comes a low voice from behind them. Tori cries out as Zevran slips an arm around her, hitting at him with open palms.

            “Sneaky son of a whore!”

 

Wynne sits down next to them at camp, helping them cut up elfroot in silence for a moment. Then, she speaks up. “So tell me, how did you become a Grey Warden?”

            Lux looks up. “I was tainted. The Joining was the only thing that could save me,” they answer with a slight frown.

            Wynne nods. “Then you became a Grey Warden out of necessity,” she states, and Lux nods. “But Duncan must also have seen something special in you. The order does not take in recruits just to save their life. You must be proud to be able to represent your tribe and the Dalish as a Grey Warden.”

            They sigh and bow their head. “I suppose so. I am not certain if I would have gone, had I not been sick, however.”

            “Do you wish you hadn’t gone?”

            They shrug. “If I had not been tainted, I might have been eaten by a werewolf. The Wardens might not have gotten to my clan in time, and it could have been wiped out. It is no use dwelling on the consequences now. I am a Grey Warden.”

            “A wise answer.” Wynne smiles. “Take heart, dear friend. You survived, even when you were not expected to. We do not know yet what lies in store for you, or the name you carry.”

            “Thank you, Wynne.” Lux smiles up at the elder woman, taking the elfroot and putting it in the kettle. “Now may I ask a question in return?”

            “Of course. Ask what you wish.”

            “Do you resent me for not taking you along to find the Urn?”

            Wynne’s face softens, and she puts a hand on Lux’s shoulder. “My dear, I could never resent you. I understand and respect your decisions. Yes, I would have liked to have come along, but I also understand the choice of your companions.”

            They nod, relieved. “I am glad. I would hate for you to be on my bad side.”

            Wynne laughs. “Don’t worry, I won’t pull out my cane just yet.”

 

The trek down from the mountain is thankfully rather uneventful. Once or twice they have to make an early stop when it starts to rain and the path becomes too slippery, but they arrive in Redcliffe without a lot of delay. A small delegation, consisting of Rose, Wynne, Leliana and Alistair, head up towards the castle to present the Ashes, while the rest of the group stays behind in the village, sorting out their goods with Bodahn.

            Zevran comes up to Lux as they’re busy with this, holding something behind his back. “I’ve got something for you,” he says with a smirk.

            Lux raises their eyebrows. “Alright, I will bite. What is it?”

            To their surprise, he pulls out a sword, long and slightly curved, with a leather-wrapped handle. They notice it vibrates slightly in his hand.

            “I found this on one of the cultists we fought. I thought I’d use it, but it doesn’t… well, it just doesn’t quite work for me.”

            “And so you thought it would for me?” They take the blade from him, gasping as it stills in their hand. It feels… right, for a reason they cannot identify.

            “The cultist I took it from used magic alongside this sword,” Zevran explain. “Much like you have learned to do.”

            “Was he an arcane warrior?” They turn, giving the sword a few experimental swings in the air. “This is a very nice sword.”

            “It looks good on you.”

            They sheathe it, pulling out the sword they’ve been using so far. Maybe someone else can make use of it. “In return, I also have a gift for you,” they say with a grin.

            “Oh? You spoil me.”

            They rummage through their pack, pulling out a pair of elven gloves that Varathorn had given them in thanks for the ironbark they had gathered for him.

            “Gloves?” He takes them from them. “You’re giving me gloves? What for?”

            “They are Dalish. Like those of your mother’s.”

            He turns them over, studying them. “I… Maker’s breath. You’re right. It is like my mother’s.” A smile creeps on his face. “The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery… but these are very close. And quite handsome.”

            “They will look good on you,” they say quietly.

            Zevran looks back at them. “Do I seem surprised? Perhaps I am. Still, I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me.” He pulls the gloves on, bending his fingers. “No one has simply… given me a gift, before. Thank you.”

            “You are very welcome, Zevran. And thank you, too.”

 

Besides the sword, the group also found ancient elven gloves in the temple, which Lux is quick to claim. They match well with their armour, and leaves them wondering how the two pieces got separated so. After a while, the party in charge of restoring Arl Eamon returns, bright-eyed.

            “He’s up and walking again, and requests an audience with all of us,” Rose says, motioning them along. They follow, towards the castle.

            They all gather in the hall. Eamon sits in a chair, exhaustion still clear in his face, but he looks down upon all of them with a smile. “Grey Wardens,” he starts. “You have not only saved my life, but kept my family safe as well. I am in your debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?”

            “We need your help against the Blight,” Lux says firmly. “That will do.”

            Tori shoves them lightly and mutters something under her breath about not turning down a reward. Eamon nods. “I understand, but regardless of your motivations I feel you are worthy of a reward. I would like to honour your efforts, nothing more.”

            Lux inclines their head. “As you wish, then.”

            “Then allow me to declare you and those travelling with you champions of Redcliffe. You will always be a welcome guest within these halls.”

            “Thank you, your grace,” Rose says with a wide smile.

            Teagan looks at Eamon, frowning. “We should speak of Loghain, brother. There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery.”

            Eamon nods at him. “Loghain instigated a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power.”

            “I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon,” Teagan says. “He is mad with ambition, I tell you.”

            “Mad indeed.” Eamon speaks with a heavy voice, laden with sadness. “Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What’s more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end.”

            “But can you not unite the nobility against Loghain?” Rose wonders.

            “I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes. But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies.” Eamon shakes his head. “We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn.”

            “Then Loghain must capitulate,” Tori says, crossing her arms.

            “I agree.” Eamon leans forwards on his chair. “Loghain will pay for his heinous crimes. But our armies must be reserved for the darkspawn, not for each other.” He sighs, weary. “I will spread word of Loghain’s treachery, both here and against the king. But it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain’s allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore.” He looks over the group firmly. “We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain’s daughter, the queen.”

            Lux frowns in contemplation. They do not understand much of human politics, but surely Eamon must have someone in mind.

            Teagan looks at Eamon, worry in his eyes. “Are you referring to Alistair, brother? Are you certain?”

            “I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred.”

            “Wait, why Alistair?” Lux asks. They look at the man, who ducks his head with a frown.

            “Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair’s claim is by blood.”

            By blood? But that means… “Alistair was related to the previous king?”

            “His bastard son,” Alistair mutters, shaking his head. “What about me? Does anyone care what I want?”

            “You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden.” Eamon levels his gaze on Alistair. “Is that what you want?”

            “I… but I…” Alistair shakes his head with a sigh. “No, my lord.”

            Eamon nods. “I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all of Ferelden’s nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or the other.” He looks at the other Wardens. “Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, my friends? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing.”

            Lux blinks slowly. “I… think that would be best, yes,” they say, tentatively. Rose and Tori nod in agreement.

            “Very well, I will send out the word. It will take some time to recall my forces and organise our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet.”

            “We still need to head to Orzammar,” Rose replies with a nod. “We will reconvene here when our job is done.”

            Eamon smiles at her. “I agree. I wish you the best of luck, Wardens.”


	29. Loyalty Tested

They head north, skirting along the edge of the Frostbacks this time. This path is navigable enough for a cart, so Bodahn and Sandal follow them towards Orzammar. The two dwarves have proven themselves invaluable – their cart carries the majority of their goods, save their personal belongings and main weapons. The tents, cooking supplies, the packs with dragon and drake hide: those all lie amongst the goods on the cart, at their disposal whenever they wish.

            Occasionally, the situation gets a bit tight – once or twice they’re ambushed by darkspawn or bandits, and have to protect the merchants alongside themselves. However, generally they’re with ample warning by their scouts: Lux, who can sense darkspawn a mile away, and Morrigan, who circles above them in various avian forms.

            In once such battle, everything seems alright, until Wynne suddenly collapses. She puts a hand to her forehead with a soft groan, and Rose rushes over worriedly, a healing spell on her lips.

            “Ahhh…” Wynne blinks slowly. “I… fell.”

            “Very observant,” Tori mutters with a frown. “Are you alright, though?”

            “For a moment there I thought I was…” She winces. “I thought it was all over…” Lux exchanges a look with Rose. Yes, Wynne is older than most of there, but surely she’s not yet at a point to die of age?

            “That… what was over?” Lux asks cautiously.

            “Everything,” Wynne answers. She slowly gets to her feet with Rose’s help, leaning on her staff. “I… I will explain everything, when we are back at camp. Now is not the time.”

            When they are sure Wynne is alright to go on for now, the group slowly starts to proceed again, slowing their pace only slightly. They still need to find a good space to camp before night falls, they can’t afford to linger for very long.

 

At camp, when evening falls, Wynne gathers a small following, consisting of Lux, Tori and Rose, who sit around her, worry in each of their eyes.

            “I think I owe you an explanation for what happened, earlier,” she says with a sigh.

            “Yes,” Rose replies. “You had us quite worried.”

            Wynne nods. “You should know that… something happened to me at the tower, before you came along.” She looks down at her hands. “You spoke to Petra, did you not? She told you I saved her from a demon. I…” She pauses for a moment. “I did, but I did not survive that encounter.”

            Tori frowns. “Uh… this case of death is taking a while to kick in, then.”

            “Let me explain fully,” Wynne says. “I engaged a very powerful demon to rescue Petra. It sapped me of all my energy and will, and left me drained. It took everything I had to defeat it, and when I was done I no longer had the strength to keep my heart beating.” She closes her eyes, bowing her head. “I remember my life ebbing away; everything receded from me… sound, light… I remember being enveloped in complete, impenetrable darkness.” She opens her eyes again, looking at the three of them. “And then I sensed a presence, enfolding and cradling me, whispering quietly to me. The sensation is impossible to describe. I was being… held back, firmly, but gently, as a mother would a child eager to slip from her grasp.” A small smile comes to her face. “I felt life and warmth flowing through my veins again. I began to be aware of small sounds, and the discomfort of my hip pressing into the cold stone of the tower floor.”

            “So you were never really completely dead, then,” Lux states with a frown.

            Wynne sighs. “The Fade contains spirits both benevolent and malicious. The benevolent spirits seldom make themselves known, because they want nothing from mortals, unlike the demons.” She looks at each of them, quiet for a moment. “It was one of these spirits that saved me. Without me, I would be dead. And it has not left me.”

            They can hear Rose gasp beside them softly, and Tori crosses her arms.

            “It is with me, even now, bonded to me. You see, I am supposed to be dead. It is the spirit that is keeping me in this world, and this is not the way of things.” Wynne gives a wavering smile. “Perhaps the spirit did not expect this, but it is weakening, gradually. I am living on borrowed time.”

            “Wynne… Why didn’t you tell us?” Rose’s voice is saddened.

            “I didn’t know if you were ready to hear it. But now you know.”

           

As Rose retreats to her tent that night, mind churning with the implications of what she’s just heard, she’s caught off-guard by Alistair standing in front of the tent, nervously playing with his fingers. He brightens when he sees her.

            “Is everything alright?” she asks him, her own hands enveloping his to still them.

            Alistair inhales sharply. “All right. I… guess I really don’t know how to ask you this.”

            “Are you sweating?” She smiles briefly.

            “No! I mean, yes. I mean…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “I’m a little nervous, sure. Not that this is anything bad, or frightening, or… well, yes.” He looks down at both their hands. “Oh, how do I say this… You’d think it would be easier, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my head’s about to explode. I- I can’t think straight.”

            Rose smiles and squeezes his hands. “That’s sweet.”

            “Here’s the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can’t imagine being without you. Not ever.” He brings her hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t know how to say this another way… I want to spend the night with you.” His face colours beet red. “Maybe this is too fast, I don’t know, but… I know what I feel.”

            Rose laughs, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Alistair, darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

 

Lux is awake early next morning after having completed the last watch shift, when Alistair comes stumbling out of Rose’s tent. He blushes when he sees them, waves awkwardly, then hurries towards his own tent.

            They decide not to tell him he’s missing a gauntlet. He’ll figure it out on his own.

 

The guard lets them through the gates of Orzammar with little trouble, recognising Lux and Morrigan from a week back. They walk through the Hall of Heroes, as the plaque helpfully says, bearing mixed expressions. Most seem awe-filled, struck speechless at the grandeur of dwarven architecture.

            Lux feels like a bird trapped in a cage of rock and stone and lava, and cannot _wait_ to get their promised help and get right back out of here.

            Of course, it’s never that simple. As they had picked up a week earlier from the guard, the regency of the dwarves is at a stand-still, with the previous king dead and two candidates for the throne. Lux is perfectly willing to just throw the crown at either of them to get their aid, but that’s unfortunately not how it works, they are helpfully told by a grimacing Alistair.

            And so they head towards the Diamond Quarter, the place for high-born dwarves. Criers stand on the sides of the streets, on the steps of buildings, yelling their support for one candidate, slandering the other.

            The Assembly is in uproar, and doesn’t lead to much progress. They do, however, get the names of the representatives of the two candidates. Retreating back to the main hall, the group gathers to discuss.

            “I don’t know much about their dwarven politics,” Rose mutters, “but we did just see one of Bhelen’s men kill one of Harrowmont’s.”

            “Probably hardly the first blood shed over this matter,” Tori considers with a shrug. “I doubt either man has been entirely pacifistic in this campaign.”

            “What facts do we have?” Lux questions. “Bhelen is the only heir, correct? And Harrowmont was a friend of the old king.”

            “Who said that the old king wanted him to be the new one,” Rose points out.

            “Yeah, that seems shifty to me,” Tori mutters.

            “Well, why don’t we talk to both men?” Zevran suggests. “See what they are all about, no?”

            “I think that is our best option for now.” Lux nods, and looks around. “One group takes Vartag, the other takes Dulin?”

            “I’ll go to Dulin,” Rose offers. “I don’t entirely like the sound of this Bhelen guy.”

            “I’ll take Vartag,” Tori says. “Lux?”

            “I will join you on this,” they say with a nod to the other elf. “Meet each other back here?”

            The group splits up, Zevran, Morrigan and Sten following them while Wynne, Leliana, Alistair and Shale head after Rose. They find Vartag in one of the side rooms in the Chamber, and he nods at them.

            “Wardens, welcome. It is always a blessing for Orzammar to host your order. I am Vartag Gavorn, top advisor to our good Prince Bhelen. What news do you bring?”

            Lux bows their head politely. “We come here requiring aid against a Blight.” They pull out the treaties.

            Vartag looks them over briefly, then looks back up at them. “Ah, ancient documents, indeed. These were signed in the reign of Eithnar Bemot, Paragon and king. That was sixteen generations ago.” They can practically feel the impatience dripping off of Tori, and cannot help but sympathise with it. Will this man get a move on? “Now, the difficulty is that the treaty only compels our _king_ , and we are sadly lacking one of those right now.”

            Tori sighs and rolls her eyes. “Can we talk to Bhelen, is what we’re asking.”

            Vartag frowns at her. “You must understand, Harrowmont hides behind his good reputation while sending spies and assassins. Bhelen can’t know who to trust. It’s been like a knife in the heart for Bhelen to see so many of his father’s men stand with the usurper.”

            “What do we have to do to earn your trust?” Lux asks, trying to fill their voice with patience and calm even though they lost both about twenty seconds into this conversation.

            “Harrowmont has engaged in a campaign of bribery and coercion to ensure that every house serves him.”

            “Surprise,” Tori mutters under her breath.

            “But if a neutral party, a stranger, were to approach certain key members, perhaps with irrefutable evidence of Harrowmonth’s deception… I’m certain my lord prince would show his gratitude.”

            Lux sighs quietly. “What kind of evidence?”

            “Harrowmont promised the same portion of his estate to two different deshyrs, Lady Dace and Lord Helmi,” Vartag explains. “Harrowmont can’t possibly grant it to both of them, but they won’t find out until after the vote is cast. I have copies of the promissory notes Harrowmont gave each of them. Once they see those, they should both reconsider their votes.”

 

Rose finds Dulin waiting for them outside of the Chamber. He bows at their group with a smile. “I heard there were Grey Wardens here. I am Dulin Forender, second to Lord Harrowmont, King Endrin’s own choice as successor.” He straightens up. “Word is spreading that the surface may suffer a Blight. It is shameful we are not in a better position to help.”

            “We have a treaty, obliging Orzammar to aid us during this Blight,” Rose says patiently. “It is with my other Wardens if you wish to see, but-”

            “That may be, and that is a terrible risk for the surface. But even if the world would end tomorrow, Lord Harrowmont cannot ignore Bhelen today. He cannot afford to trust anyone of unproven loyalties.”

            Rose frowns. “Stop playing games. There is more at risk than one man.”

            “You’re asking for the king of Orzammar to send armies to the surface, but Orzammar has no king and we have no army.” Dulin shakes his head regretfully. “Right now, the men who should be fighting darkspawn are brawling in the street. If this situation is not resolved, we face civil war!” She sputters indignantly, but Dulin continues over her protests. “If you want Lord Harrowmont’s time now, you’ll have to prove you have no intention of turning against him.”

            She sighs, repressing the urge to press a hand against her face. “So, how do I prove it?”

            “That’s a generous offer.” Dulin smiles brightly at her. “If you mean it, you might attend the Proving today. The deshyrs take it very seriously. And unfortunately, Bhelen found some way to blackmail or intimidate House Harrowmont’s fighters into stepping down.”

            “Let me get this straight: You want me to enter the Provings in Harrowmont’s name?”

            “It would certainly make your loyalties loud and clear.” He shrugs. “Bhelen would never work with anyone who humiliated him in that way. Harrowmont would have no fear of meeting with you then.”

            “Look, the Grey Wardens don’t usually pick sides-”

            “Then I’m afraid your only choice is to wait until there’s a winner. Lord Harrowmont cannot risk his life working with someone of unproven loyalties. If you change your mind, let me know.” He smiles again. “The Proving is this afternoon and Lord Harrowmont could certainly use you on his side.”

            Yeah, she highly doubts he’s talking about her. She bids the dwarf a good day, turning on her heel and striding back into the Chamber of Assembly, a frown set on her face.


	30. Company in Criminals

“As much as it pains me to say this,” Rose starts, voice lowered, “I don’t think Harrowmont is the king Orzammar needs right now.”

            “Good, because he’s also been buying votes and double-crossing his supporters.” Tori waves the promissory notes in the air. “I mean, I guess they could be false, but we may as well check this out. Varky-tark won’t let us meet with Bhelen until we do.”

            “Let me guess: he wants you to prove your loyalty?”

            “That seems to be the gist of it yes,” Lux confirms with a nod. “We are to talk to Lady Dace and Lord Helmi. The former should be around here somewhere, but Lord Helmi tends to spend his time in an establishment called ‘Tapsters’…”

            “Oh, yeah, dibs,” Tori says with a grin. “I wanna try some of that famed dwarven ale for myself. Zev, wanna join?”

            “Oh, it would be my pleasure.”

            Rose sighs. “Alright, take Sten and Shale along for protection. We’ll find Lady Dace in the meantime. Don’t-” She grabs Tori, who’s already headed towards the Commons, by her collar. “Don’t get yourself into trouble. This is already much more of a mess than it needs to be.”

            “I got it, _mom_.” Tori rolls her eyes and shakes herself free. “C’mon lads, to Tapsters we go!”

            Rose and Lux watch her go, ensemble in tow, and share an exasperated look. “Well, that surely won’t backfire on us,” Rose mutters, shaking her head.

            “Yeah, I do not know why you picked that particular combination of people,” Lux says with a frown.

            “I figured maybe Sten at least would have some common sense. But somehow I fear I just made a big mistake.”

 

Tapsters looks like a pretty traditional tavern, if very… dwarf-y. Nothing that stops Tori from getting a good pint of ale before sauntering through the crowd, looking for finer clothing between the commoners’ rags. Zevran joins her at the shoulder, clasping a pint of Tapsters’ finest in his own hand.

            “Why in such a hurry? Surely we can take our time, enjoy a drink?” he drawls, slipping his other arm around her shoulder.

            She glances back. “I mean, if you wanna get crushed between two giants, sure.” She’d instructed Shale and Sten to stay near the entrance in case anything went wrong, and they’re both glaring in her direction.

            “Some might not see that as such a bad thing.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, and she snorts and punches him in the arm.

            “Gross.”

            They find the so-called Lord easily, towards the back of the tavern, standing out in his finery. The conversation is quick and easy; it doesn’t seem like Helmi cares much about being double-crossed, just about the trouble that comes with rejecting the offer, and he walks off muttering unhappily.

            “Well, that was rather simple,” Zevran comments, leaning against the table Lord Helmi has just left. He raises his pint at Tori, who grins and takes a swig.

            “I liked that dude. Not like most nobility I’ve met.”

            “And you have met many, I take it?”

            She rolls her eyes, sitting down. “Oh, I’ve met a couple. And then I killed a couple. And now I’m here.” She gestures around her. “So, y’know, when in doubt, kill the royalty.”

            “Mhm, yes, that ended up very well for these dwarves, now did it?” Zevran laughs and sits down next to her. “Well, I know our fearless leader told us to report back immediately, but surely it would be a waste to let this ale go bad, no?”

            “How right you are, Zevran,” Tori says, raising her tankard in a toast to the air. “How right you are.”

 

In the Diamond Quarter, however, Rose and Lux come to a bit of a standstill. Lady Dace seems willing enough to change her vote, outraged at being double-crossed, but only her father can make the change, and he’s in the Deep Roads.

            “Well, we are Grey Wardens,” Lux mutters as they make their way towards the Commons. “I suppose it is what we do.”

            “Should we pick up our rambunctious quartet?” Rose wonders.

            Her question is answered as Sten and Shale meet them halfway, both looking unhappy (though this is nothing new).

            “What did they do?” Lux asks, already fearing the worst.

            “The squishy ones are pouring foul liquid into their gaping cavities,” the golem replies, crossing its massive arms. “A lot of it.”

            “I tried to get them to stop, kadan, but we were… forcibly removed from the premises.” Sten looks almost apologetic. Lux isn’t buying it.

            “You are seven feet tall!”

            “And the elves are quite slippery,” Shale says with a rumbling shrug. “We tried our best.”

            Rose sighs deeply. “Let’s just go. It’s not that far out.”

 

The Deep Roads are bad, filled with darkspawn and deepstalkers, and they have to fight their way to Aeducan Thaig, but it’s not as bad as any of them expected. They’re used to battle with these creatures by now, and it’s quite a relief to be able to sense their enemies at all times, making most of the fights an easy win even while missing two of their members. They find Lord Dace and his companions absolutely surrounded by deepstalkers, and rescue them from what would have been a pretty nasty death.

            They show him the notes, and manage to convince him Harrowmont has been dishonest. They leave the Deep Roads together, Lux breathing a sigh of relief when they come upon darkspawn-free tunnels again. Where normally they appreciate their extended senses, they are slowly coming to despise them here, as the constant presence of darkspawn presses down on them, leaving them with a churning stomach and bile at the back of their throat.

            Not unlike Tori, who they find outside Tapsters, groaning and clutching her stomach, with Zevran amicably patting her shoulder.

            “One of Tapsters’ finest too many,” he explains with a wry grin. “But we convinced Lord Whatshisface he was voting for the wrong person, so one might say we deserved it.”

            Rose sighs and shakes her head. “I suppose we can call it a day for now, and return to Vartag with news in the morning. Let’s get ourselves some rooms.”

 

Getting some people actually into their rooms is another matter entirely. At first Lux offers to get a room with Sten, but then neither Tori and Rose, nor Leliana and Wynne want Morrigan in their rooms. Morrigan, however, does not want to room up with Sten, and so the Qunari ends up joining Alistair and Zevran, despite their protests. Shale, who doesn’t sleep, stands outside the tavern, Falon sleeping at its feet.

            Morrigan sits on one of the beds, idly cleaning under her nails. Lux starts slowly taking off their armour, placing it with care on top of the locker at the foot of the bed. As they sit down on the bed as well in their underclothes, they glance at Morrigan. “Tell me, are you really Flemeth’s daughter?” they ask, pulling their knees up towards their chest.

            Morrigan looks up, a curious look on her face. “I assume you are actually asking whether Flemeth herself gave birth to me. Truly, I do not know. I once asked Flemeth that very question, and she merely laughed at me.” She smiles wryly. “’Tis not inconceivable that she could capture a Chasind man, or perhaps change to a more attractive form to attract him willingly. I find it more difficult to imagine her with child.”

            Lux hums, considering. “Could she have stolen you as a child?”

            “It seems likely, does it not? In animal form, a babe could easily be spirited away and raised as Flemeth’s own. I do know the tales of Flemeth having many daughters, even though I have never met another. And Flemeth has always treated me as her blood.”

            “I understand. I was also not raised by my own parents, but I have always considered Zathrian my father.” Lux averts their gaze, shoulders slumping.

            Morrigan’s tone grows considerate. “And he raised you quite well, as far as I am concerned. Flemeth taught me everything I needed to learn.” Pride creeps into her voice. “How to survive. The meaning of power. The truth of men. If other mothers do not teach these things, then I believe them the lesser.”

            They nod. “I suppose that’s true.”

            “You suppose it’s true? ‘Tis true. Take a person such as yourself.” Lux looks up to find Morrigan extending a hand out towards them. “Between us, there could be sex. Lust. Passion. Anything else is simply a delusion.”

            Their face grows red, and they give her a faint smile. “Nothing wrong with a little delusion.”

            Morrigan chuckles, getting up in a smooth movement and near-stalking over, sitting herself down on their bed. “Feel free to delude yourself even further, then.”

 

They get an audience with Bhelen in the morning. Tori and Zevran trail after the group slowly, both sporting headaches, which Rose and Wynne have refused to cure. “That’ll teach you some responsibility,” the elderly mage had proclaimed, a smile hiding beneath her stern look.

            The Royal Palace of Orzammar is heavily guarded, but they are led through without much of a problem. The man they assume to be Bhelen opens his arms wide as they enter. “I am impressed, Wardens. Not many outsiders so quickly grasp Orzammar’s rather… convoluted politics.” He smiles. “I am Prince Bhelen. Vartag told me of your efforts against the usurper who tried to claim my father’s throne.”

            “All we care about is getting troops to face the Blight,” Lux says, crossing their arms.

            Bhelen does not look bothered by their rude tone. “Then we have a common goal. We may not like each other, but the Blight is our first priority.” They scoff, but nod. “We need absolute unity to fight against the fulcrum of true evil,” he continues, eyes narrowing.

            “Then you’ll honour your agreement with the Wardens?” Rose asks carefully.

            “Unfortunately,” Bhelen replies, and Lux has to hold themselves back from sighing loudly, “while this debate rages, I have no power to send the troops you need. You’ve seen for yourself, the city is a slaughterhouse.” He gestures with one arm. “Criminals run lawless. I could never hold the throne if I allowed such chaos.”

            “And you want us to do something about that,” Tori sneers.

            Bhelen chuckles. “Jarvia and her carta are behind this bedlam. If you can eliminate them, I promise as king, I will send as many troops as you need to fight the darkspawn.” He gestures at a map of Orzammar behind him. “Unfortunately, Jarvia’s base of operations is in Dust Town, and we have little leverage there. The casteless refuse to cooperate with my men. Perhaps you’ll have better luck.”

            Lux lets out a soft sigh. “We will go look for her.”

            “And I will wait eagerly for your return.”

 

“Almost reminds me of the Alienage,” Tori mutters as they enter Dust Town. The district of the casteless certainly is just as dirty, and just as filled with hopeless people. They split up to find information on Jarvia, making sure none of them is ever alone.

            After Lux talks to a woman named Zerlinda about her son, and presses some coin into her weathered hands, Tori beckons them over. When the whole group has gathered, she grins and holds out what looks like a small bone. “Me and Zev found the entrance to her hideout, as well as the key.”

            “You have some blood on your face.” Lux steps closer, licking their thumb, and before Tori can run, they’re wiping at her cheek with a sound of disapproval.

            “Get off me- fine. Whatever. There were some thugs, but we dealt with them easily.”

            “I am so proud of you.”

            “Fuck off, Dalish. Let’s go kill some criminals.”

 

They fight their way through the tunnels, dwarf after casteless dwarf felled at their hands. Lux can’t help but feel a bit of remorse – sure, they’re criminals, but they only became so because of this ridiculous caste system in the first place. However, seeing as they’re actively trying to kill them right back, they figure they shouldn’t dwell on it for too long.

            They find Jarvia, surrounded by her lackeys. They all slip into the shadows, making it hard to get a bead on them – the group ends up forming a large circle around their less defensible members to protect them from the backstabbing criminals.

            Lux takes a dagger to the shoulder, and they lash out with a curse, their blade cutting into the dwarf. As they pin her to the stone pillar, they pull their other hand back, sparking with electricity. Behind them, they hear the snarl of a witch shifting into a canine form, but it’s blocked out as they push their hand down on Jarvia’s face, her screams echoing through the chamber.

            They pull back, panting softly and dropping the ringleader’s body to the floor. A tentative hand is placed on their shoulder; they turn to find Rose staring down at her with a bit of concern in her eyes.

            “You alright?”

            “Fine,” they mutter, glancing around. The chamber is filled with the bodies of dead dwarves, and Tori and Zevran are combing the room for not-yet-triggered traps. “Just a bit frustrated.”

            “Being locked up underground probably isn’t doing you favours, huh?”

            Lux scoffs and shakes their head. “It is not. Let us go see if Bhelen wishes to send us troops yet.”


	31. A Day Longer

Bhelen does not want to send them troops yet. In fact, it’s rather looking like he’s using _them_ as a troop: a troop to find a Paragon in the Deep Roads.

            “This dude is ridiculous. I hate politics.” Tori kicks at a loose stone, sending it flying. Falon barks and chases it down, returning with the piece of rubble clamped between his teeth.

            Lux gently removes it, throwing it through the hall for the mabari to chase. “I suppose we could see it as practice for what is to come. Our Grey Warden duty is fighting darkspawn, no? Be assured we will find many in the Deep Roads, at least.”

            “That doesn’t assure me one bit, but alright. Where did you say this dude was?”

            “According to Master Ignacio, he should be in the palace somewhere… Ah.” The ambassador storms them, and they split apart, taking him on from two sides. The dwarf stands no chance against the two elves and mabari hound, and they fell him quickly and quietly.

            Tori rifles through his pockets as Lux stands watch, suddenly looking up. “Why’d you ask me to help you, anyway? Zevran is the assassin, and you guys seem to get along well.”

            “Ah, it is… complicated.” Lux rubs the back of their neck. “This Master Ignacio, he is… well, he is a Crow.”

            “Fuck, Dalish.” She gets up, pocketing a pouch full of coin, by the sound of it. “You’re with the Crows now?”

            “Not _with_ them. We just have… an arrangement.” Tori opens her mouth, and they quickly put up a hand. “A mutually beneficial one.”

            “You’re making this worse.”

            “I am simply making sure the Crows will no longer accept contracts on us.” Lux sighs. “I just did not want Zevran to know. I figured it might trigger some… unpleasant memories.” They look at Tori. “Can I trust you to keep my secret, at least?”

            Tori rolls her eyes, sliding another dagger into her belt. “If he finds out by himself, it’s not my fault.”

            “Tori-”

            “Yeah, yeah, whatever, fine! I promise.”

            “Thank you.” They smile. “Then I will not have to kill you.”

            She scoffs, punching them in the upper arm. “I’d love to see you try.”

 

When the two of them return, they find two newcomers to their party: a red-haired, belching dwarf sits at a table with Sten, who looks thoroughly unamused, and Leliana is hugging a strange, naked rat.

            “Guys, we were gone for, like, twenty minutes, tops.” Tori sinks down into a chair, grabbing a tankard and drinking from it. She pulls away with a scrunched-up face. “Nasty.”

            “We’ve been busy,” Rose says with a smile. “Went for a walk around Orzammar, found Oghren here,” she gestures at the dwarf, “husband of Branka, is very interested in helping us find her.”

            “And then she got me this adorable little bunny-pig!” Leliana exclaims, holding the creature up. “I’m calling him Schmooples.”

            “It’s called a nug. They’re a delicacy around these parts, apparently.” Rose shrugs. “She really liked them.”

            “It looks so fucking ugly, holy fuck, lemme pet it.” Tori reaches over with a grin.

            “Still the better looking of the two,” Alistair mumbles, glancing side-ways at Oghren. Zevran snorts into his drink, doubling over and coughing loudly. Wynne shakes her head in a reprimanding way, but there’s a faint smile on her face nonetheless.

            “In any case,” Lux says, walking over to pat Zevran on the back, “we should stock up on supplies. Creators know how long it will take to find Branka, and there probably will not be any taverns on the way.” They turn to the dwarf. “Oghren, is it?”

            Oghren burps in reply. “Aye.”

            “Lovely.” They struggle to keep their face straight as they speak. “What can you tell us about Branka? Where could she be?”

            “She was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to building golems, which was lost centuries ago. The smith Caridin built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil.” Lux glances at Shale, keeping solemn watch just around the corner of the entrance. Was it created there, too? “As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig,” Oghren continues. “Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caridin’s Cross. No one’s seen that thaig for five hundred years.”

            “Well, we have a map up until Caridin’s Cross,” Rose notes. “We can get there, at least.”

            “We should leave early next morning. Take some time, get your supplies, run any errands you need. Tomorrow, we go looking for Branka.” Lux straightens, looking over their friends. They’re not at all looking forwards to heading into the Deep Roads again, but if it’s necessary… there’s no one they’d rather take along than this motley crew of people.

            Well, they can make an exception for Oghren. The dwarf makes a lewd comment towards Leliana about her robes, then passes out on his chair. Everyone around him shuffles and gets up, to do some last business in the city.

            “Only one more night in comfortable beds,” Zevran comments, sidling up next to them as they leave to tavern. “Want to make the best of it?”

            Lux laughs softly, leaning into him. “Only if we get a separate room, _lethallin_. The last threesome was fun, but I doubt Morrigan likes you that much.”

            “I don’t know.” He smirks and looks back. “If that look she’s giving me is anything to go by…”

            “No, that is most definitely the murder look. Let’s go, I have something I need to see to in Dust Town.”

 

“Your father wants you both to come home, Zerlinda.” They extend a hand towards the woman, who takes it shakily, getting up.

            “Both of us? I don’t believe he said that. I’ve never heard him refer to my son as anything but trash. He calls him ‘it’!” She shakes her head, then looks at them. “But maybe… maybe Mother convinced him, or you did. Oh, my friend, I cannot thank you enough.”

            As she stumbles off, Zevran gives them a calculating look. “You did the right thing, there.”

            “You almost sound surprised.” They smile, walking towards the exit. “She did not deserve this fate. I cannot help all of them, but… this, I could fix.”

 

As Rose returns from perusing some market stalls, she’s flagged down by a young dwarven woman. “You look like you’re not from around here.”

            “You could say that,” she answers, amused.

            “Oh, wonderful!” The woman smiles wide. “I’ve been trying to find someone who really knows the surface world. I-I don’t suppose you’ve heard of something called ‘the Circle’?”

            Rose smiles. “I’m from there, in fact.”

            Her eyes go wide. “Oh, my lady, it’s an honour. I’ve never met an actual mage.” Her tone grows more enthusiastic. “Is it true you can manipulate nature’s forces with your mind? Like you were born with lyrium in your veins?”

            “You are not wrong, but don’t be mistaken – it’s a dangerous occupation.” She looks down on the dwarf curiously. “Why are you interested in the Circle?”

            “I’ve been trying to reach someone there for years; I’ve sent missives with every caravan, but I never get a reply.” She shoots her a hopeful look. “I want to know if they’d accept me for study.”

            She raises her eyebrows. “I… I could ask them, certainly.”

            “That would be wonderful!” She grabs Rose’s hand with her own, shaking it firmly. “My name is Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith caste. Tell them I’ve already begun reading the Tevinter Imperium’s ‘Fortikum Kadab’, and it’s just fascinating. Did you know the Imperial Magister Lords once had genealogies of every human family known to produce a mage child?” Dagna lets out a squeal. “Oh, I’ll go pack my bags right now! I’ll be waiting by my father’s shop!”

            She watches the girl go with a bemused smile. Certainly, Irving will accept – a dwarf of the smith caste will know much about lyrium trade, and the Circle is always open for trade of information.

 

Alistair finds her in her room by night. Tori is still downstairs, drinking or whatever she’s up to, so she’s alone, reading in her bed. She smiles when he enters, face apologetic.

            “Sorry. I can come back later…?”

            “No, don’t worry.” She closes her book, putting it beside her. “What is it?”

            “I just… well, we’re going into the Deep Roads soon, right? I figured… well, I might visit you. Before.”

            “Before we all die?” she teases with a laugh. He pulls a face and sits on the edge of the bed.

            “I mean, who knows. Finding this Branka figure… It feels like a fool’s errand. But I guess we have to, right? If we want the support of the dwarves…”

            “Hey, at least the longer we spend down there, the longer you don’t have to think about the Landsmeet.”

            “Riiiight. That’s still a thing, isn’t it?”

            “Hasn’t stopped being one.” She scoots over, running her fingers through his hair gently. “You didn’t sound very pleased when Eamon proposed to put you forth as heir to the throne.”

            “I wasn’t! I’m not still! I’m hardly king material.” He leans into her touch, closing his eyes. “I never wanted a part of this. And now it seems I no longer even have a choice in the matter.”

            “I think you’d make a great king,” she says soothingly.

            Alistair scoffs. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better. Me, a bastard with no court knowledge whatsoever?”

            “That’s why you’ll have people to help you! You’ll have your uncle, and everyone else in the castle. And…” She hesitates, biting her lip. “You’ll… you’ll have me. If you’ll have me, I mean.”

            He looks at her, eyes soft. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll just see how it goes. Maybe the archdemon will swoop over and burn down Denerim and we won’t even have to think about it.”

            “Wishful thinking,” Rose sighs. “Wishful thinking.”


	32. A Moving Mass

The Deep Roads are just as bad the second time around. The paths are often blocked, other times they’re filled with darkspawn. The stink of them, a foul stench that permeates the air, is enough for a couple of them to almost lose their breakfasts.

            They pass through Aeducan Thaig once more, clearing it within the day; by the time everyone is exhausted, Rose is reasonably sure they’re very close to Caridin’s Cross.

            They make an uneasy camp, keeping the fires low. None of them sleep comfortably, knowing darkspawn roam everywhere in these tunnels, but they all manage to get at least some rest in.

            Lux, keeping the last watch with Sten, stares out into near-darkness. To their elven sight, shapes are more discernible, and the firelight casts odd shadows on the walls – they turn to Sten quickly, wishing to distract themselves. “Do you find Ferelden very strange?” they ask, keeping their voice low.

            “To put it lightly.” Sten frowns. “No one has a place here. Your farmers wish to be merchants. The merchants dream of being nobles, and the nobles become warriors. No one is content to be who they are.”

            “You sound homesick.”

            “Perhaps.” He inclines his head. “It is strange to be in a crowd and hear a language that is not your own. To see faces that are, and aren’t like yours.” They nod, understanding. “I miss the smells of Seheron. Tea and incense and the sea. Ferelden smells of wet dogs.”

            Lux softly laughs. “You left out the rotting garbage.”

            “True. I was trying to forget that part.”

            “Is there anything you like about Ferelden?”

            Sten hesitates. “There is… interesting food here. You have a thing…” He makes a vague gesture. “It doesn’t have a word in the qunari tongue. Little baked things, like bread, but sweet and crumbly.”

            “Cookies?” they ask bemusedly.

            “Yes!” He sounds so enthusiastic, they can’t help but smile adoringly. “We have no such things in our lands. This should be remedied.”

            “I have never been to Seheron. Perhaps we should go together and introduce your people to cookies.”

            “I would like that, kadan,” he rumbles, a faint smile on his lips.

 

“Caridin’s Cross!” Oghren shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Bhelen actually tracked this place down. This used to be one of the biggest crossroads in the old empire. You could get anywhere from here.” He looks back at the rest. “Including Ortan Thaig.”

            “Any sign of Branka?” Tori asks impatiently.

            “Not a one, but trust me, we will once we’re on the path to the old Ortan Thaig. She was going to Caridin’s home.”

            “Which is not here?” Rose frowns.

            “Nah. Caridin was an Ortan before he founded his own house, and even then, he spent most his time in their thaig. Branka figured it was the best guess for where the Anvil was located.”

 

“What do you have there, Falon?” Lux crouches down, gingerly taking the piece of metal from Falon’s jaws. On closer inspection, it appears to be a helmet, adorned with the griffin wings they’re used to seeing on Grey Warden gear. It looks to be of good quality, despite the amount of time it must have spent here, and they pass it to Alistair.

            “If you wipe off the drool, it might look fetching on you,” they say with a pleasant smile.

            “Gross, Dalish,” Tori comments with a laugh.

 

After a day or two of more walking down the Deep Roads, they reach another thaig. “By the tits of my ancestors, Ortan Thaig,” Oghren exclaims. “I never thought I’d see this place in the flesh.” He runs his hand across part of the wall. “I can see Branka all over this place. She always took chips from walls at regular intervals when she was in a new tunnel – check their composition. If she was still here, though, she’d have sentries out by now.”

            As he examines the ruins, the rest of them wander off to explore the thaig. They don’t get far until a horde of spiders comes down upon them. Lux tries to set the webs on fire, but that only causes debris to fall down on them, and they quickly stop the flames.

            Rose tugs at their sleeve, pointing out the figure of a young man escaping down a tunnel. They nod, and follow her in that direction. Zevran follows quickly after the both of them.

            Through some difficult conversation, they find out the ghoul is called Ruck, and he’s been down here a while, eating the darkspawn. Lux winces as they see the state the boy has been left to; this is what they could have become, had Duncan not saved her. And is this not all their fates, as Grey Wardens?

            “It might be kinder to end him,” Zevran says softly in their ear. They nod, digging into their pack. Rose keeps talking to him, assuring him that yes, she will tell his mother he died bravely. They take out a small vial of poison, crouching down.

            “Ruck,” they say, voice kind and gentle. “If you ever… if you ever get really tired, and you want to just sleep, then drink this.” They hand him the vial, and he nods, wide-eyed.

            “Goodbye, Ruck,” Rose says, getting up.

            “Goodbye.”

            They leave the tunnel, all downcast and sullen. Lux looks at Zevran, tugging at his sleeve. “ _Lethallin_ , you will kill me before I ever become… that, will you not?”

            He laughs, surprised. “Of course. Very quickly, you won’t notice a thing.”

 

Zevran sidles up next to Alistair, and Lux exchanges a look with Rose. Oh dear.

            “Might I offer you a bit advice, my good friend Alistair?”

            “I like my hair the way it is, thank you,” he replies dismissively.

            “Truly? As you wish…” There is a smirk on Zevran’s face. “Though my advice is regarding something else completely. It has to do with your recent… exertions with your fellow Grey Warden that I overheard.”

            “My… oh.” His face tinges slightly red. Rose opens her mouth, but Lux nudges her and puts a finger over their mouth.

            “It did seem as if you just got going when all grew quiet. You are… feeling alright, yes? Perhaps you are tired?” Rose is now also going slightly red.

            “We aren’t talking about this, are we?” Alistair looks around him quickly. “Did I hit my head?”

            “I have some roots from home that you may chew if you need energy. As for volume, perhaps you ought to try arching your-”

            “Whoa!” Alistair splutters. “Whoa! Awkward!” Lux has their own hand pressed against their mouth now in an attempt not to laugh out loud.

            “You Fereldens are so finicky. How will you ever learn how to pleasure each other unless you talk about it?”

            Alistair sticks his fingers in his ears. “Not listening! La la la la!” He walks off, loudly singing, until Lux rushes forwards with a curse, blade drawn.

            “Thanks for drawing them towards us,” they snap, spearing a genlock and throwing it to the side.

            From the back, they only hear Zevran’s raucous laughter.

 

Another day passes, following Branka’s trail. They cut their way through another swathe of darkspawn before they come to a cliff, overlooking a large trench.

            Hundreds, maybe thousands of darkspawn crawl below, the cries and grunts and snarls rising up to where they stand. The stench fills the air, near unbearable. Lux clutches at their stomach, exchanging a glance with their fellow Wardens. They all feel it, the presence so close. The horde.

            A scream, piercing the cavern, a cacophonous roar that makes stonework tremble and foundations shake. All of their eyes are drawn upwards, ever upwards, towards the large purple, spiked, scaled mass of the archdemon, standing above them all. It is the first any of them have seen it, besides the occasional dream, and it is gigantic.

            It roars once more. Rose grabs at her ears, shaking her head. Tori lets out a soft curse, a hand on her weapon. Lux closes their eyes, trying to breathe deeply. This might be where their journey ends. For all of them.

            A rush of air, and then it takes off. All of them take a deep breath when it leaves, the horde following below.

            “It’s on the move,” Rose says, voice shaking. “The horde… it’s moving.”

            “But to where?” Lux asks, mouth dry.

            That is a question none of them have an answer to.


	33. The Thick of It

The Legion of the Dead awaits them as they fight off the mass of darkspawn remaining in the Trenches. The leader, a dwarven man called Kardol, seems less than convinced that Branka is still alive, but wishes them luck in forcing their way through.

            They move around the massive doors of Bownammar at the Legion’s advice. The waves of darkspawn are stronger here, forcing them to really band together and give it their all.

            They pass a forge, and are about to head in, when Lux holds up a hand. “A genlock, but it feels very strong. I do not think it would be wise…”

            “It’s just a genlock!” Tori rolls her shoulders and cracks her knuckles. “We can take it. We need to make camp somewhere, right?”

            They sigh and incline their head. “Just be careful. Can you lure it out?”

            “Fuck yeah. If I don’t come back in two minutes, come and get me.”

            She slips into the shadows, padding into the room quietly. The rest waits with bated breath, weapons ready, spells at hand. The seconds pass torturously slow, and Lux is about to give the order to go in, when they sense the presence of the genlock moving in closer, giving chase to their elven rogue.

            Tori bursts out of the room with a grin, sporting a fresh cut on her cheek, but otherwise fine. There’s the dull roar of other darkspawn slowly converging on their party, but it’s momentarily ignored as they all hone in on the forge master, avoiding his heavy hammer as they all strike him down.

            The rest of the darkspawn are quickly dealt with, and once Zevran and Leliana do a pass through the room and declare it empty, they all move in, barring the entrance with glyphs and wards. They set up a modest camp, the heat from the forge providing some warmth.

            “Do you think we’re close to Branka yet?” Rose asks softly, leaning back against Alistair, who has his arms wrapped around her waist.

            “Kardol seemed to think she got dead,” Tori mutters.

            “Kardol hasn’t been past here, though.”

            “Yeah, so how did Branka get through? If you ask me, this is a waste of time. We’re risking our necks for rumours and whispers.” She throws a dagger at the wall. It sticks perfectly in a gap in the stone with a _thunk_.

            “So we should just go back now, you’re saying?”

            Tori shrugs. “You saw it, too. The archdemon is on the move. We might not have much time.”

            In the silence that falls, soft singing rises up, near ghostly in its quality. Both their heads snap at Leliana, but she’s asleep on her bedroll, arms curled around Schmooples.

            (Rose had tried to dissuade her from bringing the nug, saying it would be too dangerous for it to travel alongside them in the Deep Roads. Of course, when Leliana gets an idea in her head, there’s no talking her down. Schmooples came, peeking out from the pack on her back.)

            “Not me,” Tori says defensively, when Rose looks back at her, but the mage just shakes her head, putting a finger to her lips. She reaches out to prod Lux, who looks up from reorganising their supplies.

            “Do you hear that?” she asks quietly. Lux’ ears twitch, and then they nod.

            “Ghoul,” they murmur. “Quite far away still. Sound must carry.”

            Rose considers this information, looking at Tori. “Branka? Maybe a member of her house?”

            “You’re grasping at straws,” she sighs, shaking her head. “We’ll check it out in the morning. If anything, we can at least put it out of its misery.”

 

They head in the direction of the singing by morning. As they’re halfway through crossing a long bridge however, there is the tell-tale hiss of shrieks, and suddenly, they’re surrounded.

            “Get away from the middle!” is all the warning Lux gives before they start conjuring up a storm, lightning crackling and fire roaring. Tori curses as she somersaults over one of the shrieks, pushing it into the middle of the storm.

            As it dies down, the bridge is covered in ash and cinders. Alistair is nursing a burn, and Rose pats out a small fire on the edge of her sleeve, but otherwise, everyone’s doing alright.

            “Bit more of a warning next time would be cool,” Tori mutters.

            Lux simply grins, brushing some ash off of their shoulder.

 

“First day, they come and catch everyone.”

            The singing is getting louder now, loud enough for them to start understanding the words. They stick together in a tight-knit group, a Warden at the front, the sides and the back, to make sure no one gets ambushed by more darkspawn.

            “Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.”

            It’s barely singing, more like a poem being recited. The sound echoes through the halls.

            “Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.”

            If that’s not bad enough, they keep encountering fleshy pods along the walls, oozing with some liquid no one is brave enough to identify.

            “Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate. Fifth day, they return, and it’s another girl’s turn.”

            Another twist, another turn. The tunnels here are devoid of most darkspawn, and it’s not helping the atmosphere.

            “Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.”

            Everyone is tense. Hands are clenched around weapons, ready to strike down whatever comes their way. But there’s nothing.

            “Eighth day, we hated as she is violated.”

            The path seems endless. The Deep Roads seem endless.

            “Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.”

            Squelching under their boots, the soft rumble of sliding earth. And above it all, that haunting voice.

            “Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast.”

            The ghoul turns her head curiously, face blackened with the taint, eyes sunken but wide as she appraises them.

            “What is this?” She lumbers forwards, towards Tori, up in the front of the group. “An elf? Exotic and impossible.” She shakes her head, brushing past her. “Feeding time brings only kin and clan. I am cruel to myself. You are the dream of strangers’ faces and open doors.”

            She rummages through skeletons, picks through the remains. Rose gasps, worry lines showing on her face. “You’ve been forced to eat your kin?”

            “And others,” she croaks. “Fresh, not those who turn. Killed right here. And we’re fed.” She drags her tongue along a piece of bone. Lux clutches their stomach in fear of throwing up. “Laryn first. But I am filled. I am…” A look around their companion shows they are not faring much better. Alistair is pale, and even Sten looks uncomfortable. “All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch.” She straightens, limps towards another pile. “I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?”

            As Rose tries to question her about Branka, about what she did, the ghoul becomes frantic, shoving her to the side and fleeing down the corridor. She curses, and looks back at the rest. “If Branka was here, she may have survived. Sacrificed her house to continue on…”

            “Then let’s go,” Tori says, face grim.

 

A large chamber brings two ogres that they lure out separately. They find the key to proceed in a room full of Legionnaire ghosts. All the while, the woman, Hespith, talks to them of Branka, lurking just out of sight.

            They pass through another long corridor, the ghoul’s words a drone above all of their heads. She speaks of Laryn, of what she became, of what the darkspawn made her.

            “Broodmother.”

            The creature is repulsive, a mass of flesh and fat and tentacles. They spread out across the room, but it’s no use as the tentacles get everywhere. The creature shrieks, and then the tunnels fill with darkspawn.

            “Lux, we would appreciate another one of those storms!” Rose calls, blasting a group of genlocks away.

            Lux nods, setting their jaw. “Sten, Shale, guard me!” The two giants come to their side, smashing at the darkspawn trying to approach them with fists and a sword. Lux uncorks a vial of lyrium, downing it in one go and feeling the rush of it go through their body as they start summoning.

            Tori dances around the room, nimbly avoiding tentacle after tentacle as she takes down each hurlock in her path. Alistair guards Leliana as she shoots down attackers, while Falon takes Morrigan’s side, snapping at a tentacle and breaking it in half with his teeth. Zevran and Oghren both take a side of the broodmother, but the thing is so massive, their weapons are barely making a dent in it. There’s a flash of energy from Wynne as weapons light up in flame, hits striking true with her aid.

            The storm takes hold, eliminating a large group of darkspawn archers. As it rages, Lux focuses back on the broodmother, calling on the forces of nature to hit hard. Their sword is sheathed at their back – they do not want to get close to that thing, and Sten and Shale are doing a fine job protecting their flanks.

            An unexpected tentacle takes Alistair down to the ground with a sickening crack. Rose screams, a half cast spell abandoned as she rushes over. Red energy swirls around her form, lashing out at darkspawn around her, but then that drops too, as she kneels by her fellow Warden. The red is replaced by green, pulsing life back into his body. With a whistle from Lux, Falon rushes over to guard her; Morrigan nods and shifts into a large bear, rushing up as well.

            There is a sudden yell as Tori gets lifted up by another tentacle, but it is quickly replaced by a victorious scream. She leaps down, swords ready, and they both plunge into the broodmother’s eyes. The creature shrieks and lashes out, wildly bucking to try and get her off, but the elf has experience climbing things much larger than her; she holds on tight, twisting the blades, and with another wet gurgle, the movement stills to a halt.

            The few remaining hurlocks and genlocks are quickly disposed of, the bulk of it already down on the floor. Alistair gets up, woozy and obviously hurt, but alive. Lux rushes over to help support him, then looks up at Tori.

            “Guys?” she calls out, voice wavering. “I don’t know how to get down.”

            Shale lets out a suffering sigh, then stomps over to help.


	34. A Crowning Glory

As they venture into the next chamber, all a bit battered and bruised, a woman’s voice reaches them. “Let me be blunt with you. After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn’t bother you, I hope.”

            “Shave my back and call me an elf!” Oghren calls, a wide grin on his face. “Branka? By the Stone, I barely recognised you!”

            Lux grips their staff a little tighter. After what they’ve just been through, they’re not quite in the mood for friendly reunions with this woman.

            “Oghren.” Branka crosses her arms over her chest. “It figures you’d find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily.” Her gaze turns to the Wardens. “And how shall I address you? Hired swords of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only ones that didn’t mind Oghren’s ale-breath?”

            “Be respectful, woman!” Oghren protests. “You’re talking to Grey Wardens!”

            “Ah, so important errand boys, then,” she scoffs. “I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side.”

            “He is,” Rose replies, voice stiff. “The Assembly is deadlocked.”

            “I don’t care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void.” She lifts her hands. “The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first archdemon ever to rise. It’s here. So close I can taste it.”

            “But of course, there’s a catch,” Tori says dryly.

            “The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets. This is what’s important.” Her voice grows in urgency. “This has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics…” She scoffs. “All that is transitory. I’ve given up everything and would sacrifice anything to get the Anvil of the Void.”

            “Just tell me it’s not more puzzles,” Tori mutters.

 

Branka keeps talking as they fight off the darkspawn that flood the chamber. With every word she speaks, her casual dismissal of the members of her house, Lux’s anger grows. For a moment, they feel feral again, a growl building in their throat before they cut it off. These might not be their people, but Branka had _no_ right…

            But they push through. The next chamber is filled with gas, and all of them start coughing.

            “There has to be a way to disable this!” Rose calls, an arm in front of her mouth. The grinding of stone is the only warning as the golem swings an arm at her, and she only narrowly avoids being hit, stumbling back with wide-eyed. “Keep these things off me! I’ll figure it out.”

            Alistair stays by her side, covering her with his shield as she moves through the room. The rest of them do their best to fight back against the golems.

            Zevran and Tori circle one of them, keeping it turning around as it tries to hit either of them while the other stabs their sword into gaps in the stone. Lux knocks another down with an earthen fist, then keeps it grounded with a localised earthquake as Sten makes quick work of it.

            The gas shuts off suddenly, and Rose comes running back with a triumphant shout. Alistair moves in to help Oghren deal with the last golem. As it falls, the doors ahead click and then swing open.

            More golems meet them in the next room. Using the same methods, they quickly clear them out, covering for the rogues who disable the traps around the floor.

            A massive stone face stands in the centre of the next chamber. After a bit of fiddling around, spirits manifest around it, and they move in to kill them.

            Suddenly, Rose yells out, “Activate the pedestal!” Lux looks down to see the pedestal that they stand by is glowing, and channels their magic through it. The pedestal lights up and shoots out at the stone face, which seems damaged by the attack.

            “Morrigan, Rose, Wynne, take a pedestal each,” they command. “Activate it whenever it’s glowing. The rest of you, take down those spirits!”

 

The next chamber is filled with golems again, and they instantly grab for their weapons, but then the largest approaches.

            “My name is Caridin,” he rumbles, and Lux’ hand stills. “Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar.”

            Shale steps forwards. “Caridin? The Paragon smith? Alive?”

            “Ah, there is a voice I recognise. Shayle of the House of Cadash, step forward.”

            Lux blinks as they look from Caridin to Shale, who walks towards the smith. “You… know my name? Is it you that forged me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?”

            “Have you forgotten then?” Caridin sighs, and it sounds like a rockslide. “It has been so long. I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that you were a dwarf… just as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer.”

            Rose gasps, questions clear in her eyes, but she keeps quiet, a look of horror dawning on her face.

            “The only… woman? A dwarf?” There is shock in Shale’s voice as well, a slight tremble.

            “I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very room, and put you in the form you now possess.”

            “The Anvil of the Void… That is what we seek.” If golems had facial expressions, Lux is certain it (she?) would look incredibly downtrodden.

            “If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it.”

            “You made the Anvil, I take it?” Lux asks cautiously.

            Caridin slowly nods. “Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: the Anvil of the Void. It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible.” He looks at Shale. “But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.”

            They swallow, hard. “A dangerous road.”

            “The darkspawn were pressing in,” he says, sorrowful. “Originally I only took volunteers, the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland. But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force men… casteless and criminals… his political enemies…” He clenches a fist. “All of them were to be given to the anvil. It took feeling the hammer’s blow myself to realise the height of my crimes.”

            “We could use it,” Tori mutters. “Especially now, with the Blight…”

            “No! I entombed myself here to find a way to destroy the Anvil! It must not be used again!”

            Suddenly, the voice of Branka comes from behind the group. Lux turns to see her holding up a rod. “No! The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!”

            “Shale…” Caridin looks back at the other golem. “You fought to destroy the Anvil once! Do not allow it to fall into unthinking hands again!”

            “You speak of things I don’t remember,” she replies. “You say we fought… Did you use our control rods to command us to do so?”

            “I destroyed the rods! Perhaps my apprentices eventually learned to replace the rods, I do not know, but if so, then all they need is the Anvil to make all the slaves they need!” He turns to the Wardens. “You! Please… help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!”

            Lux exchanges a look with Rose and Tori, the latter of which speaks up. “You were a Paragon, right? We’ll help if you support a new king.”

            “Don’t listen!” Branka yells, fury in her voice. “He’s been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness. Help me claim the Anvil, and you will have an army like you’ve never seen!”

            “Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail. Does this thing mean so much to you that you can’t even see what you’ve lost to get it?” Oghren is shaking his head at her.

            Branka gestures around the chamber. “Look around. Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume?” She scoffs. “The Anvil will let us take back our glory!”

            “The Anvil enslaves living souls!” Lux yells, fists clenched. “It must be destroyed.”

            Morrigan narrows her eyes at them. “Have you no desire to discover this anvil’s potential? It is a marvel, a tool of creation!”

            “Even the best of tools may be misused,” Wynne argues. “This is a thing of blood magic, of destruction!”

            “Sometimes creation involves the destruction of one thing to make way for another. ‘Tis a law of nature that death is the parent to life.” Morrigan shrugs.

            To their surprise, Zevran nods. “It just seems a waste to destroy the Anvil, given what it could do.”

            “And how would you like to become a golem?” Tori asks, crossing her arms with a frown.

            “You would not dare!” Morrigan stares at her.

            “How do you know?” She raises her eyebrows, challenging.

            “I would rather not find out.” Morrigan steps back. “Fine, destroy it if it pleases you.”

            Zevran stands down as well, looking suitably embarrassed, and Caridin inclines his head. “Thank you, stranger. Your compassion shames me.”

            “Bah!” Branka calls. “You are not the only master smith here, Caridin! Golems, obey me! Attack!”

           

Killing Branka is immensely satisfying. Lux breaks the control rod in half, tossing the pieces into the lava, and turns to look at the rest. The golems who were still alive stop their motions, no longer being controlled.

            Caridin shakes his head, walking towards the group. “Another life lost because of my invention. I wish no mention of it had made it into history.”

            “Yeah, you ain’t kidding.” Oghren scoffs and kicks the dirt. “Stupid woman! Always knew the Anvil would kill her.”

            “How is it the woman was not able to disable me as she did you, Caridin?” Shale asks.

            “I do not know. Have you been altered?”

            “I once had a pathetic little mage of a master. He… did something to me. Experimented on me.” Her tone hardens. “And then I killed him and it rendered me paralysed.”

            “Hmm… perhaps he was bringing forth old memories? And caused you to remember the time when… you fought at my side.” Something soft enters his voice, like a parent speaking to a child. “The paralysis you speak of always resulted when the master perished. As for your free will… you were always a strong woman, Shayle. I am pleased to see you remained such.”

            “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

            Caridin shakes his head. “Do not thank me. All of this… this is my doing, my legacy. But at least it ends here.” He looks back at the rest. “I thank you for standing with me, strangers. The Anvil waits there for you to shatter it.”

            “Yes, excellent idea,” Morrigan mutters. “Just destroy it now, after all this.”

            As Lux shushes her, Wynne steps forwards. “It was good to meet you, Paragon. I intend to ensure that your warnings about the golems are heard by the Circle of Magi.”

            “Is there any boon I can grant you for your aid? A final favour before I am freed from my burden?”

            “We only wish your support in the dwarven election,” Lux offers softly.

            Caridin nods solemly. “For the aid you’ve given me, I shall put hammer to steel one last time, and give you a crown for the king of your choice.”

 

They watch him work in quiet. Rose trails off with Shale, taking charcoal rubbings of a stone tablet she found. A metal crown is given to them, which Tori tucks into her bag, and then Alistair grabs the hammer to destroy the Anvil once and for all.

            Lux’ eyes are on Caridin, as he steps forwards, towards the edge, and then disappears from sight. As they turn their back, they blink away tears.


	35. Down the Pass

The trip back seems immensely shorter. Perhaps it’s because they know the way now. Perhaps it’s because there are fewer darkspawn in the tunnels.

            People stare at them, as they pass through the gates of Orzammar, through the polished Diamond Quarter, straight into the Assembly. Armour dented and stained with blood, faces hardened, cheeks sunken in, they must make a sight to behold.

            The guards let them pass wordlessly into the Assembly Hall, where steward Bandelor tries fruitlessly to bring back the peace. “Lords of the Assembly, I call for order! This argument gets us nowhere!”

            “Then why these delaying tactics?” Bhelen calls out. “I call for a vote right now. My father has one living child to assume the Aeducan throne. Who would deny him that?”

            Harrowmont glares at him. “Your father made me swear on his deathbed you would not succeed him.”

            Their arrival is noticed then, and Bhelen straightens with a smirk. “Well, Wardens? What news do you bring?”

            Tori takes the crown from her bag as Rose speaks. “We bear a crown from Paragon Caridin, the last creation of the Anvil of the Void.”

            Bandelor steps forwards and takes the crown, examining it. “This crown is of Paragon make,” he says, voice laced with awe, “and bears House Ortan’s ancient seal. Tell us, Warden: whom did Caridin choose?”

            “He left the choice to us,” she answers, stunning the hall into silence.

            Bandelor, blinks, then nods. “We’ve argued in these chambers for too long. The will of the Paragon is that the Grey Wardens decide.”

            Rose lets her eyes drift over those assembled, glancing over Bhelen and Harrowmont, who stare at her with bated breath. Then, she inclines her head. “I grant the crown to Bhelen.”

 

They take a breather in Tapsters, after all the pomp and parade is done. They’ve been promised troops, they’re all still alive, and now they have an inkling to what the archdemon is doing, even though it provides them with more questions than answers.

            Rose fits gems she found into Shale’s arms, marvelling at the energy radiating off of them. Zevran sits on top of one of the tables, regaling them all with the tale of when he was tasked to kill a prince. Lux snores softly as their head rests in Sten's lap, the qunari not bothering to push them off. Leliana is in the corner with Tori, the two performing a duet to the loud cheering of drunken dwarves. The atmosphere is light, despite the harrowing circumstances they all just left behind.

            The mood, of course, can’t last. They’ve only just left the mountain pass when the first arrow flies in their path, just missing Alistair by a hair’s breadth. Several attackers show themselves then, leaping from the bushes and drawing bows from the path below. Tori is the first to run down the path with a yell, only to find her sword interrupted by a mabari’s jaw.

            A second later, a large ball of flame hits the ground only a few feet away, sending the archers flying. She looks up at Rose, who gives her a thumbs-up and a shooing motion. She shakes her head and, kicking the mabari away from her, runs to pick off the survivors.

            As the battle winds down, Lux has their blade at the leader’s throat, when Leliana runs forwards. “Stop!” she yells. “Don’t kill him.”

            “You had better have a good reason for this,” Lux says calmly, keeping their blade where it is, threatening, but not harming. Yet.

            “He is no common bandit,” she says, joining them at their side. “None of them were. Their weapons and armour are of fine make, and they are well-trained.” She looks down at the man with a frown. “You know what I am talking about, don’t you? Who are you?”

            “Someone who regrets taking you on.” The man coughs, body jerking. “Was told it would be an easy job. Kill the little red-haired girl, deal with the others as we pleased.” He nods at Leliana.

            The bard blinks, shaking her head. “You… you came to kill me?”

            “Who is trying to kill Leliana?” Tori asks, walking up.

            “It don’t pay to ask why someone wants someone else dead. I just need to know what to do, and where to get my money.” He coughs again, looking up at his attackers. “Ha! I’ll be lucky to get away with my life, it seems. Maybe we could work something out?” Desperation tinges his voice. “You’ll like the idea.”

            “Speak quickly,” Leliana says, crossing her arms.

            “I’ve no real quarrel with you. Wasn’t me that wanted you dead, but I know how you can find the one who does.”

            “Your life for information, then,” Lux replies.

            The man nods, then reaches towards his pouch. He winces when the blade digs a little into his neck, but manages to get a piece of paper out of the pouch, holding it up. “I have some directions written down on how to get to the house. It’s in Denerim. Here…” He offers it to Lux, who raises their eyebrows. Tori snags it from him instead. “It’s the best I can do.”

            Leliana accepts the paper from Tori. “Thank you. Now leave. I never want to see you again.”

            “Get lost,” Lux mutters, sheathing their sword. The man scrabbles upright, running off into the woods.

 

They arrive back in Redcliffe within a few more days. The usual entourage of Rose and Alistair, accompanied by Leliana and Wynne, head up towards the castle, while the rest stays in the village, tending to various errands.

            Lux joins Tori as she barters with Bodahn, putting their chin up on her shoulder. The other elf lets out a surprised laugh, reaching up to ruffle their hair, continuing to talk with the dwarf. As she finishes, Lux steps back, tucking their hands behind their back.

            “Need something, Dalish?” she asks, amusedly, tucking the dagger she bought into her pack.

            “I have got something for you,” they say, opening their own pack and fishing out something wrapped in cloth. Tori cocks her head, taking it from them and unwrapping it with an eye on them.

            “What- oh.” She takes the curved dagger out, holding it up and studying it.

            “I found it at Caridin’s Cross. I did some research after we returned, and I believe it is one of the Thorns of the Dead Gods. It was used to slay the archdemon called Toth, in the third Blight.” They smile. “Maybe it can be reused for this one.”

            “That… is a very nice dagger.” Tori tucks it into her belt with reverence. “Thanks. That… that’s really cool.”

            “You can say you love me, it is alright.” At her laugh, Lux grins and hugs her. “You are welcome, Tori.”

 

“We come bearing news,” Rose says as they return. The rest of the group has gathered in the tavern by now, waiting for them to come back.

            “Eamon is going to call the Landsmeet,” Alistair continues, sitting down at the table. “We’re all expected to meet in Denerim as soon as we can.”

            “But, he still needs to gather his forces. So, if we want to make a little detour, say, to Ostagar…”

            “Hell yeah, detours.” Tori raises her tankard. “I’ll drink to that.”

            Lux glances over at Morrigan. “I will meet you there. I have… something to do, before that.”

            “Mysterious. Indulge us?” Rose leans over the table, fingers interlocked under her chin.

            Lux shakes their head. “It is not that important. Besides, I travel quickest alone. Unless you have magically taught yourself to change into animals…?”

            They let the question hang as food is brought to the table. The idea of heading to Soldier’s Peak is momentarily brought up, but ultimately unanimously pushed ahead to when they all get to Denerim.

 

Lux finds themselves sitting with Wynne late into the night, both poring over books the woman retrieved from Redcliffe Castle. They look up from their pages after a moment, looking at the elderly mage.

            “You were a teacher, at the Circle?” they ask.

            Wynne hums. “As a Senior Enchanter, I have mentored a few apprentices, yes. I have even given a few lessons to Rose.” Her eyes crinkle with amusement. “Most fell unto deaf ears.”

            They chuckle. “Will you tell me about some of the others? I know the life at the Circle that we most recently saw does not do it justice.”

            She sighs. “There was one… a lad, named Aneirin. My first apprentice.” Her eyes get a distant look to them. “Aneirin was an elf, raised in one of the elven Alienages, and he was very mistrustful of humans, especially humans in authority.”

            “I can imagine.” They think of the Alienage in Denerim, the nobles, the guard.

            “What Aneirin needed was time. Time to get used to his new home, time to emerge from his shell so we could build a rapport. I gave him no such time.” She shakes her head. “I was young and arrogant. ‘He is a mage’, I thought, ‘he needs to grow up and act like one’. I expected too much from him, too quickly.” Wynne closes her book softly, a bookmark between the pages. “I gave no consideration to his origin, or his feelings. And he retreated further from me. All I could think of was how stubborn he was, how he was throwing away all his talent and his potential, just to be difficult.”

            “And he had much? Potential, I mean?”

            “Oh, very much so,” she answers, fondly. “Sometimes I would catch him practicing on his own, but if I asked him to show me what he could do, he would freeze up, or fumble terribly. You cannot plant crops in the cold wintry ground; you cannot teach a student who is closed off and unresponsive. Patience is what is needed, and I learned that too late to help him.”

            “What happened to him?” Lux frowns, staring at the table. Aneirin. Surely not…

            “Aneirin ran away from the Circle, one night. I had berated him over some trivial, ridiculous matter that I no longer remember. I drove him away because of something utterly unimportant.” She sighs. “He was a child, fourteen at the time of his leaving. They had his phylactery, and they hunted him down…”

            Realisation begins to dawn on their face. “Wynne…”

            “They called him ‘maleficar’, a mage who practices forbidden magic, deserving of death. He was a child, misunderstood and lost. I begged the templars to tell me if he suffered, if they gave him a quick death.” Wynne presses a fist to her mouth, sorrow in her eyes. “I got no answers from them. I got no answers from them. I was his mentor, and they wouldn’t even tell me what became of him.”

            “Wynne, I…”

            “I should have known better,” she interjects. “I had the best mentors; they were kind, compassionate… why didn’t I learn from them? I failed Aneirin.” She lets her head sink, fingers burying themselves in her hair. “All I had to do was listen to him. He would try to talk to me, and I would tell him to concentrate on his spells. He talked about the Alienage sometimes…” She looks back at Lux. “And the Dalish. He always talked about looking for Dalish.”

            “Wynne…” They reach for her hands. “Wynne, he found them.”

            Her eyes go wide. “No… The templars are well-trained and thorough. That he still lives… it would be a vain hope.”

            They shake their head. “He survived, Wynne. He was attacked by templars, nearly died, but he found us. Aneirin is one of our most promising healers.”

            Wynne blinks, and hangs her head. “He… I can’t believe it. You are certain?”

            “Aneirin is not a common name, and he told us of escaping the Circle. I am certain.”

            “This is… thank you. I am most reassured to hear this.”

           

Lux rises early, getting up before dawn. They gently wake Morrigan, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then leaves the tavern. In the village square of Redcliffe, they change into a sparrow and take flight.

            Off towards Denerim.


	36. Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regular updating schedule? dont know her

Lux knows, by now, how fast their group travels. The cart slows them down somewhat more. So it is with determination that their wings carry them towards Denerim, hoping their suspicions are correct.

            They land in the market square by the end of the day, phantom limbs sore. Their heavy pack weighs on their back, and that makes them take the decision not to rest, but walk on, towards the blacksmith.

            Herren looks at them as if they’re crazy, but Wade’s eyes light up with something nearing devotion. He takes the drake- and dragonscales from them, promising to have something worth their time in but a few days, and they walk towards the tavern with a satisfied smile.

            A few days is all they’ll need.

            The next morning, they report back to Ignacio about Ambassador Gainley, getting a nice-looking crossbow in reward for their efforts. With a promise to ‘look at’ the other contract they got, they leave the tavern for a stroll around the market place.

            They check in with Wade every day, until after four days of work, he presents them with two sets of armour, a wide grin on his face. They press a pouch of coin into his hands with a heart-felt thank you, promising to return if they ever collect more materials worth such a wondrous blacksmith.

            They take the set of dragonskin for themselves. It fits like a glove, and they flex their fingers, marveling at the craftsmanship that went into this.

            Then they leave the marketplace, taking back into the air, headed south.

 

Lux flutters down towards the ground, shifting back. There’s darkspawn on either side of them, but none too close, and so they stride towards the hut.

            Flemeth greets them with a smile. “And so you return,” she says, leaning on her staff. “Lovely Morrigan has at least found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn’t you say?”

            “You would prefer it I dance to your tune, instead?”

            “Why dance at all? Why not sing?” Flemeth laughs. “Something has changed about you, child. Circles within circles, forming more circles, and the path begins again. What has Morrigan told you, hmm? What little plan has she hatched this time?”

            “Does it matter?” Lux stands their ground, face set.

            Flemeth looks them over with a pleased expression. “Composing your own tune, then? Now there’s something even I can dance to.” She laughs again. “That you have come at all means you desire something. Perhaps I may yet give it to you.” Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Morrigan wishes my grimoire? Take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain.”

            “And what happens to you?” they ask, cautiously.

            “I go.” Flemeth waves a hand dismissively. “Perhaps I surprise Morrigan one day… Or I may simply watch.” She shrugs and smiles faintly. “It would be interesting to see what she does with her freedom. Enlightening, even. Would you give an old woman that?”

            Lux looks at her, jaw clenched. Flemeth is not simply an old woman, that much is clear. _Asha’bellanar_ has some more tricks up her sleeves.

            But they owe Morrigan this, at least.

            They bow their head in respect. “I cannot let you do that, I am afraid.”

            Flemeth nods, unsurprised. “It is a dance poor Flemeth knows well. Let us see if she remembers the steps.”

 

Later, Lux will wonder why they even were surprised when the old witch’s form shifts, and changes into a massive dragon. Really, they could have known.

            She perches on an outcropping near the hut, teeth bared, fire gathering between her jaws. Lux shakes off the momentary surprise, conjuring a shield from the Fade before rushing in. The upkeep of the shroud takes a lot of their energy out of them, but it hardly matters as they draw Spellweaver, stabbing it into one of the massive legs.

            The dragonskin takes a lot of hits for them, protecting them from balls of flame and sharp nails and teeth, and from the impact with the ground when Flemeth’s tail sends them flying. Still, they get back up, jaw set, eyes narrow, sword at the ready. They don’t know if Flemeth is simply not giving it her all, or if they have improved since their last encounter with a dragon – nevertheless, they hold their own, covering their blade with frost and shielding blows with arcane energy.

            They’re standing on their last legs when they see an opening, and charge in, trembling arms lifting their sword to come down in a massive blow towards the head. The blade cuts into a wound already created, separating scales and hide and muscle and tissue. The bead of flame gathering in Flemeth’s mouth sparks, and sizzles out.

            And she collapses.

            So does Lux, falling back, panting, sweating and bleeding. Tears streak their ash-covered cheeks, every part of their body smarts and burns, but Flemeth lays before them, slain.

            They stumble to the hut, kicking open the door, and grab the grimoire.

            Then Lux collapses in the bed, eyes closing in exhaustion.

 

“They did say they’d meet us here, right?” Tori kicks at a rock, looking around in annoyance. They’ve just gotten to Ostagar, Bodahn’s cart parked safely some hundred feet away with Shale as stoic guard, but there’s been no sight of the Dalish elf yet, even though they left a week beforehand. She curses herself for just letting them go off alone – what if something happened along the way?

            Morrigan in particular seems worried. The witch paces the grounds restlessly, muttering to herself, and snaps at anyone who comes too close.

            “Maybe we should at least make a pass around,” Alistair suggests, rubbing the back of his head. “Or someone could scout around? Maybe Lux is in the area…”

            “And _no one_ knows where they went.” Rose leans on her staff, brow furrowed in worry. “Zevran?”

            Zevran lifts his hands. “I do not know anything, my friend.”

            Suddenly, Falon lifts up his head, looking up sharply. He barks, once, and everyone’s attention is immediately drawn to the sky.

            A crow flutters down to the ground, shifting in midair, and Lux lands in front of the dog with a smile. “ _Ir abelas_ , my apologies, I am late, I know-”

            Suddenly, Tori is at their side, patting their upper arm with wide eyes. “Where the _fuck_ did you get that armour?”

 

Lux remains silent on where they went, so the group drops it for now, and they move into Ostagar. The place is, predictably, overrun with darkspawn. What’s interesting, however, is the fact that some of them are wearing some very nice pieces of armour.

            Very recognisable ones.

            They gather up Cailan’s armour pieces as they go, stowing them away in packs. Using the information Elric had given them, they locate the key to Cailan’s chest, and open it. Inside they find a very nice longsword, and some documents.

            As Rose and Wynne pore over the paper, Lux tests the heft of the blade, then offers it to Alistair.

            “Family heirloom, right? I think you should wield it.”

 

They find Cailan, strung up, on the bridge to the Tower of Ishal. There is a moment of somber silence, before Tori and Alistair cut the body down.

            “A pyre might attract them,” Rose says, tentatively.

            “Let them come,” Lux mutters darkly. “He deserves some proper end, at least.” Tori shoots them a surprised look, and they shrug. “I may not have respected him as a King, but that does not mean I cannot respect him as a person.”

 

The ogre rises up underneath the genlock’s command, and at least three members of their party let out a groan.

            “Really?” Rose says. “Zombie ogres?”

            “Cut down the necromancer!” Lux calls, already rushing forwards. Tori is quick on their heel, then stops, indecisive for a moment between going for the larger ogre, or the main threat. The decision is made when Zevran looks at her, smirks, and calls “Dibs!” before running towards the ogre, and she turns to follow with a yell.

            The smaller zombies are more of a nuisance than a real threat, and when the ogre comes down and they can all focus fire, it’s only a matter of mere seconds to kill the necromancer. Alistair lifts the last of the spoils, Cailan’s battered helmet, and tucks it into his pack with a grim face.

            “It is done,” he says, shaking his head. “Let’s go. We need to set up camp.”

 

Afterwards, they all gather on a hill overlooking the ruins, staring down at the ransacked Warden camp. Alistair is staring down at his father’s sword, twisting and turning it quietly. Tori, clad in her new drakeskin, polishes the scales on her forearm absentmindedly. In the distance, the smoke from Cailan’s last resting place climbs into the darkened sky.

            Then, as one, they all turn and start walking, leaving Ostagar behind.


	37. Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woops. hey. so. yeah.  
> not dead.
> 
> i will be slowly adding to the rest of this story as i finish editing it. my apologies for the long wait.  
> in other news though, dragon age 4 anyway??? hell yeah.
> 
> (on a sidenote, i named one of the major antagonists in my d&d campaign kauthrien after cauthrien and now i cant read this chapter normally anymore so there we go)

Morrigan seeks them out as they make camp, slinking into their tent with light steps. Lux smiles up at her, pulling the book out of their bag.

            “Could have told me your mother could turn into a dragon,” they note, handing it to her. Morrigan sits down next to them on the bedroll.

            She laughs, clutching the book to her chest. “I would have thought you would enjoy the surprise.” She looks down at the book with a faint smile. “Mother’s real grimoire, is it? I’m glad you were able to find it after all. My thanks for retrieving it.” She glances back up at Lux, then down again. “I shall begin studying it immediately and unlock the power that it holds.”

            “Surely you do not need to start at once.” Lux leans against her with a smile. “You are, after all, in my tent already…”

 

Lux leads the group along the hide-out Ignacio had marked on a map for them. Fortunately, it is quite close to the road, and a big detour is not necessary for them to come across the mercenary band and kill them.

            As the group moves on, however, Rose catches up to them.

            “You’ve been acting mysteriously,” she says, hands tucked behind her back with a faint smile. “Disappearing into the night, only to be late meeting up with us, insisting on a detour because of darkspawn when no one even sensed the slightest hint of them…”

            Lux shrugs, keeping their eyes on the road. “I do not wish to keep secrets from you. I just did not think it useful to tell you.”

            “I think it’s pretty useful, actually.”

            They sigh. “What do you wish to know?”

            “Where did you go, before Ostagar?”

            “Many places.” At Rose’s sharp look, they relent. “I went to Denerim, to commission this armour. And then I went back to the Korcari Wilds.”

            “What…” Rose looks back, at where Morrigan trails a good distance behind them. “Did you talk to Flemeth?”

            “Talk is… a word you could use to describe what I did there.” Lux smiles wryly. “But I did a little more than that.”

            “No way.” Rose shakes her head. “You killed her?”

            “I do not know if it will stick, but yes. Morrigan asked me to.”

            “And you just _agreed_?” Rose’s voice climbs in pitch, and Lux has to hush her sharply. “Like a dog being pointed at a target?”

            “Do _not_ compare me to a dog,” they hiss. Falon whines at their feet, and their face softens. “ _Ir abelas,_ Falon. Morrigan explained to me her reasons, and I agreed. Flemeth had to die.”

            “And you won’t tell me those reasons.” It’s less a question than a statement.

            “They are not mine to tell.”

            “Fine.” Rose huffs. “The detour? Why were you so insistent on killing those Qunari?”

            “Tal-Vashoth, actually,” they correct. “And I needed to kill them to fulfill a contract.”

            “A contract with whom?”

            “His name is master Ignacio. I am performing some… tasks for him, in order to get the Crows off of our tail.”

            Rose sighs, and shakes her head again. “Right. Okay. I think I’m out of questions.”

            Lux inclines their head. “I apologise for keeping so much information from you. Just be assured I have my reasons.”

            “I know, I know.” She smiles, then holds out her staff. Lux’s ankle catches behind it, and they stumble with a surprised yelp. “Now you can stop leaving me out of things, though.”

            “I will, as soon as you tell me where you learned blood magic,” they counter, righting themselves with a huff.

            Rose looks caught for a moment, then averts her eyes. “Where do you think?”

            “Seeing as the last time we encountered a demon together was in the Circle, and I was _there_ … was it Redcliffe? Or Honnleath?”

            “Redcliffe.” She sighs. “I had to make it leave Connor, but I figured I might as well… benefit from it, in the meantime.”

            “What did you trade?”

            “The promise of not killing it.” Rose grins. “I can be… convincing, if need be.”

            “You could have killed it after acquiring the knowledge,” they say accusingly, frowning. “What if it went back on its word?”

            “I could have,” she admits. “But I am not a demon. I don’t… I don’t _like_ lying. And I was certain it would upkeep its promise.” She looks at Lux worriedly. “Please don’t tell them?”

            “Your secret is safe with me, that, I promise.” They show her a gentle smile. “Just try not to deal with demons again in the future.”

            “I can promise that one.”

 

They’ve almost gotten to Denerim, settling down for one last camp before they arrive. Rose stands watch with Alistair as the rest settle down to sleep, calm and without worry.

            Lux jerks awake first, the imprint of the archdemon burning behind their retinas. They scramble upright, almost tripping over a groggy Zevran.

            “Wake up, spawn, ambush,” is all they manage to get out, stumbling outside wearing only a tunic and leggings. Rose and Alistair have already gotten up, and their fellow Wardens nod.

            “You sensed them too? Quick, wake up the others!” Rose calls, already grabbing their staff and rushing towards one of the tent.

            The shrieks materialize out of the shadows, then, catching a few by surprise. Fortunately, they all have had the minds to sleep beside their weapons, and even mostly unarmored except for a few, manage to fight them off.

            Lux senses one on the outskirts of camp, and rushes over, confident they can take just the one.

            It cowers, backing away as they approach. That alone is enough to alarm them, but then it looks up, face blackened, eyes hollow.

            “You… _Lethallen_ …”

            Time seems to grind to a halt as they stare into the ghoulish face of their former friend, their former lover. Their fingers, once having a tight grip on their sword, loosen, and the blade digs into the earth as they drop it. “Durwen? I-it cannot be…”

            “Don’t…” Durwen shudders, backing away further. “Don’t look at me! I am sick…”

            “Durwen, _ma vhenan, ir abelas..._ Do not have fear, we can help…”

            “No help…” Durwen shakes his head, wincing in pain. “No help for me… The song… in my head…” He clutches at his chest, sharp nails digging in, caked in grime and gore. “It calls to me… He sings to me! I can’t stop it!”

            “I-I have to try, _lethallin_ … O-oh Creators, no…”

            “Too far… You cannot help me.”

            “I should have gone back for you… I am so sorry, oh Gods…”

            “ _Tel’abelas_ , _vhenan_. It was you that should’ve lived…” Durwen looks at them, desperation in eyes glazed over like a corpse. “Please…”

            “Do not ask me to kill you. I cannot…” Their eyes brim with tears and they wipe at their face angrily.

            “ _Ma melana sahlin_. If you will not kill me… I must leave you no choice.” His lips pull back into a snarl as he leaps at them, and they let out a cry, stumbling back.

            Then Durwen is pulled away, and there is a flash of a blade. “Shit! I got him!”

            “No!” they yell. “Do not… I have to…”

            “Is this someone you know?” Tori holds him by the neck, one sword at his throat. Her face is pulled into a look of disgust, but also pity.

            “Durwen… _Ar lasa mala revas._ _Falon’Din enasal enaste_.” As Tori lets go, they pick their blade up from the ground, advancing on Durwen.

            He nods, keeping his head low. “ _Ma serannas. Ar lath ma, vhenan_.”

            “ _Ar lath ma_ ,” they whisper, as they drive the sword in between his ribs. “ _Ir abelas_.”

            Zevran is the one to catch them as they stumble back, tears blurring their vision, their sword falling to the ground once more, streaked in blackened blood. They turn into his chest, sobs racking their body, as he carries them towards the tent, whispering soft assurances into their ear.

 

They don’t sleep anymore, curled up into Zevran’s arms as they are. He pets their hair softly, both of them silent as the wee hours of morning creep slowly by.

            Eventually, they stumble out of the tent to the sound of music. Leliana plucks at her lute, singing a sorrowful song that they don’t know the words of. Tori’s voice joins her, creating a harmony that fills the entire campsite. As they sit for breakfast, Sten joins them on the log, a book clutched in his hand. He begins to recite a passage from it, his voice low, but carrying.

            “ _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra._ _Anaan esaam Qun._ ”

            Even without knowing the tongue, they gather from his solemn tone that it is a prayer of sorts. They stare out into the low-burning fire, clutching the amulet they received in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, then softly lean into him.

            “ _Ma serannas._ Thank you, Sten.”

            “He will be with his people, now. You did him well.”

            As everyone starts to pack up camp, they too get up. “I know. I just wish it had not been necessary.”

 

Loghain and his ensemble meets them as they stride in alongside Eamon. The Arl of Redcliffe folds his arms. “Loghain. This is an honour, that the regent would find time to greet me personally.” He makes a gesture that approaches a bow, but there is a frown on his face.

            “How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?”

            “The Blight is why I’m here,” Eamon replies calmly. “With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the darkspawn.”

            “Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen.” His chest puffs up. “And I lead her armies.”

            “If this Anora rules,” Lux says, stepping to Eamon’s side, “let her speak for herself.”

            “Ah, the Grey Warden recruit.” He looks down on them with dismissal. “I thought we might meet again. You have my sympathies on what happened to your order. It is unfortunate they chose to turn against Ferelden.”

            “Enough,” Tori interrupts. “When does the Landsmeet begin?”

            “Don’t interrupt, churl,” the woman at Loghain’s right bites. “Your betters are talking.”

            “Enough Cauthrien, this is not the time or place.” Cauthrien steps back with a scoff, and Loghain continues. “I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened: our king is dead. Our land is under siege.” He gestures wide with an arm. “We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed?” A slight smirk creeps onto his features. “You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne.”

            “What efforts can there be when you outlaw the Grey Wardens?” Rose reasons.

            “Cailan depended on the Grey Wardens’ prowess against the darkspawn and look how well that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tall tales. Stories will not save us.”

            “I cannot forgive what you’ve done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I.” Eamon shakes his head. “Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight.”

            Alistair mutters under his breath, “Oh, is that all I have to do. No pressure…” Rose prods him sharply.

            “The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down. Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.” Loghain turns and leaves the hall, followed by his men.

            Eamon sighs in relief. “Well, that was… bracing. I didn’t expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon.” He glances at the Wardens and companions. “We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here.” His face is set in determination. “The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage.”


	38. Heroic Rescues

“I’m sure we all have some business in Denerim,” Rose says, looking over the group as they exit the palace. “I suggest we get on with that first. Me and Alistair will walk around for a bit, see if we can’t chat up some nobles, gather some support. Make ourselves visible.” She looks at Tori. “If it’s not too much to ask, can you lead a small party to check out Soldier’s Peak? It’s an ancient Grey Warden base, so who knows what we might find there.”

            “You just want me gone so I can’t go steal shit.” She scoffs, but smirks and gives a mock salute. “You can count on me.”

            Rose nods and turns to Lux. “Either you or Morrigan should go with them, in case they quickly need to get a message through to us.”

            “I can go,” Morrigan says before they can answer. They notice she isn’t looking at them at all and frown. “Denerim is not a pleasant place for me to reside in, and I would not mind leaving for a while.”

            Tori rolls her eyes, but forces a smile. “Great, we have a mage. Who else?”

            Rose’s eyes pass over the group, considering. “Take Oghren,” she says, “And Shale. Apologies,” she continues, looking at the golem, “but you draw quite some attention.”

            “It does not need to mollify me,” Shale rumbles.

            “I will join you, Wardens, if you do not mind,” Wynne says, looking at Rose, who nods.

            “Well, that just leaves us,” Leliana says cheerfully. She smiles brightly at Lux. “Will you come help me? I want to track down whoever sent to kill me.”

            “With pleasure,” Zevran says, a smirk creeping up his face. Sten nods solemnly, shifting in place next to Lux.

            “Of course. You said it was close to here?”

 

And so the group separates, each to their own business. Tori’s group heads for the gates, onwards to Soldier’s Peak, while Rose and her following go to visit the local taverns. Leliana leads her small group towards the other side of the marketplace, following the address written on the note.

            “Who could want you dead?” Lux asks curiously. In passing, they’ve heard snippets of conversation about Leliana’s previous life in Orlais, but nothing in much detail.

             “I am not entirely certain… but if it is who I think it is, we should prepare ourselves, and be cautious.”

            They are met with two Qunari guards, quickly dispatched by the two rogues sneaking up behind them. As they enter the next room, they are met with more armoured guards, and a finely dressed woman, who smiles as she stands up.

            “Leliana!” she calls out, voice thick with accent. “So lovely to see you again, my dear…”

            “Spare me the pleasantries,” Leliana bites out. “I know you’re-”

            “Oh, you must excuse the shabby accommodations,” the woman cuts her off. “I try to be a good host, but you see what I have to work with? This country smells like wet dog.” She scoffs. “Everywhere. I cannot get the smell out. Even now it is in my hair, my clothes… ugh.”

            Lux speaks up, drawing attention to themselves. “Why did you send assassins after Leliana?”

            The woman shoots them a dismissive look, before looking back towards Leliana. “So business-like, your companion.”

            “You framed me, had me caught and tortured.” Leliana’s voice is filled with disgust, but there is some pain hidden beneath, too. “I thought that in Ferelden, I would be free of you, but it seems I am not. What happened to you to make you hate me so? Why do you want me dead so badly?”

            “Dead?” The woman raises her eyebrows. “Nonsense. I know you, my Leliana. I know what you are capable of. Four, five men… you can dispatch easily.” She waves a hand. “They were sent to give you cause to come to me. And see? Here you are.”

            Her smug smirk is infuriating. “You could have sent a letter,” they say through gritted teeth.

            “Ignore what she says,” Leliana says. “She is lying. I know how she works.” She turns her gaze back to the woman. “What are you up to, Marjolaine? Why are you in Ferelden?”

            Marjolaine shrugs. “In truth? You have knowledge that you can use against me. For my own safety, I cannot let you be.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Did you think I did not know where you were? Did you think I would not watch my Leliana? ‘What is she up to?’ I thought.” A smile curls over her lips. “’The quiet life, the peasant clothes, hair ragged and messy like a boy… This is not her’. You were planning something, I told myself. So I watched…” Her eyes, light and teasing, narrow, darken. “But no letters were sent. No messages. You barely spoke to anyone.” Marjolaine shakes her head. “Clever, Leliana, very clever. You almost had me fooled. But then you left the Chantry, so suddenly.” She uncrosses her arms, gesturing wide. “What conclusion should I draw? You tell me.”

            “You think I left because of you? You think I still have some plan for…for revenge?” Leliana sounds incredulous. “You are insane. Paranoid!”

            “The Blight is what concerns Leliana now,” Lux says with a wry smile.

            “Oh, is that what you think?” Marjolaine turns to them. “If I were you, I would believe nothing she says. Not a one. She will use you.” She smirks again. “You look at her and you see a simple girl – a friend, trusting and warm. It is an act.”

            “I am not you, Marjolaine. I left because I didn’t want to become you.”

            “Oh, but you are me.” Marjolaine sounds almost mocking. “You cannot escape it. No one will understand you the way I do, because we are one and the same. Do you know why you were a master manipulator, Leliana?” Her eyes glint dangerously. “It is because you enjoyed the game; you reveled in the power it gave you. You cannot change or deny this.”

            “I trust Leliana,” Lux says, crossing their arms. “No matter what you say.”

            “Thank you,” Leliana says softly, then looks at Marjolaine. “You will not threaten me or my friends again, Marjolaine. I want you out of my life, forever.”

            She exchanges a look with Lux, then with Zevran and Sten. Lux nods, then draws their sword. “Your actions will not go unpunished.”

            Four more Qunari guards spring into action, two of them drawing staves, while the other two lift massive mauls. Marjolaine herself is a sight to behold, fighting entirely without weapons, but still able to damage them in places where it hurts most. However, her finery does not block the giant sword that Sten cleaves through her, and she collapses at their feet.

            Sensing Leliana wants to be left alone for a moment, Lux heads into the siderooms, careful to tiptoe around the assorted traps in the entrance. They rummage around in the rooms, finding a very nice longbow that they swing around their shoulder.

            As they return, Leliana is just getting up from the floor, and she looks at Lux with reddened eyes. “She’s gone,” she says softly. “She’s really gone…”

            “And good riddance, I say,” Zevran comments, putting an arm around the woman’s shoulder. “Come. Some distraction will do you good.”

 

Rose, Wynne and Alistair meet them in the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Lux buys them all a round of drinks, then slips towards the back under the guise of a bathroom break.

            Ignacio seems pleased with their work, rewarding them with a set of gauntlets and another ‘interesting piece of paper’. They return to their group not much later, sitting down at their table.

            “How long will it take for Tori’s group to return, you think?” Rose asks. Alistair frowns.

            “Soldier’s Peak… that’s a couple days away, at least. Best we can hope for is for them to return within the week.”

            “Have you had any luck turning nobles in our favour?” Lux asks, clasping their hands around the tankard of ale.

            Both Rose and Alistair sigh. “It sure hasn’t been easy,” the former mutters. “Arl Wulff has lost two of his sons when the West Hills were hit by the Blight, and he doesn’t seem too hopeful about anything anymore. We might be able to sway him towards us, but I wouldn’t put my bets on it.”

            “Also, Eamon has requested us in his chambers somewhere tomorrow. Seems there’s something wrong,” Alistair says.

            “I might have a lead on how we can gain another noble’s vote,” Lux mentions, being careful with their words. “An anonymous noble’s son has been captured by Arl Howe’s men. If we rescue him from his captors, we could gain more favour.”

 

The ransom is a bust from the start. The boy is not there, but they fight their way through Howe’s guards anyway. Afterwards, Lux heads back towards the tavern, face set in grim dissatisfaction. Zevran and Rose tail her, and they don’t even bother trying to dissuade them; Zevran seems to be on to them already, anyway.

            It doesn’t stop him from making a disgusted noise when he sees Ignacio. The man disregards him with a flick of his hand, turning to Lux.

            “I heard there was quite a scuffle in the alley ways.” He inclines his head. “Well done, Warden.”

            “The boy wasn’t there,” they say accusatorily, crossing their arms.

            Ignacio smiles, pleased. “Don’t worry, Warden. Some ‘friends’ have rescued the boy. He’s already safely home and back with his father… his very important father.” His eyes crinkle in amusement. “You already took care of the father’s other requirement. The man who kidnapped his son, Captain Chase, is quite dead thanks to you.”

            Their shoulders slump, and they sigh. “Are we done?”

            Ignacio nods. “Your payment is in the chest. I hope you find it most satisfying. My superiors want me to convey their thanks.” He gestures behind him. “The Crows aren’t accepting any new contracts on you. And when this Blight ends, we’d love you to visit Antiva to discuss other… opportunities.”

            “It has been a pleasure,” they say, inclining their head. Taking their rewards from the chest, they turn back to leave. Zevran catches them by the elbow as they round the corner.

            “You were dealing with the Crows behind my back,” he says flatly.

            Lux shrugs. “I figured you would not look upon me favourably, had I told you.”

            A smile creeps onto his features. “Quite sly of you, my friend. While I do not fully approve, I cannot help but applaud your efforts.” Glancing sideways at Rose, who raises her eyebrows and gestures with her chin, he dips them and kisses them slowly, languidly.

            The mage walks past with a laugh, pushing the both of them into the wall with her hip.

 

By morning, Anora’s maid poses the next problem, and as she leaves them to discuss, Lux kicks at the table with a curse.

            “We do not need this right now.”

            “But we need her,” Rose points out, leaning on the table with her palms. “If we can turn her against her father, we stand a much larger chance at winning the Landsmeet. With the queen behind Loghain, however…”

            “Yes, yes, I understand _some_ of your politics. This is frustrating.”

            Zevran comes over to massage their shoulders. “Fret not. I’m certain you will look fetching in some guard armour. And if something goes amiss, you can always pretend to be a hapless servant, no?”

            “With vallaslin adorning my face? Somehow I do not think they would fall for it.” Lux sighs, looking over their companions. “At least I can cast in armour. Rose, Wynne?”

            “Nope.” Rose frowns. “I need mobility, not fifty pounds of metal hanging off my shoulders. I’ll stay here, discuss with Eamon.”

            “I will take Alistair, then, and the two rogues.” They run a hand through their short hair. “I still do not like this, but I suppose, if anything, we might be able to take out some more of Howe’s men.”

 

Slipping into the palace isn’t very hard, even despite Erlina’s atrocious acting skills. However, Lux senses the tingle of magic the moment they come to the door, and Anora confirms their suspicions: the room is sealed by a spell.

            They make their way through the rest of the palace, down to the prisons. In one of the cells is a man, who, when they enter the hall, reaches out to snap his guard’s neck, and after a bit of rummaging, a naked, older man steps out.

            Lux blinks, and exchanges a look with Alistair, who frowns and nods. There is the familiar sense in him that they feel in all Wardens.

            “I thank you for creating such a distraction, stranger. I have been waiting weeks for this opportunity.” He begins to strip the guard of his armour, putting it on himself. “You never hear music in the sound of a key turning in a lock until you’ve been imprisoned.”

            “Apologies, but who are you?” Lux asks cautiously.

            “I am Riordan. Senior Grey Warden of Jader. And you…” He looks them over, blinking. “You must be Duncan’s recruit. Yes, you match the description.”

            “My name is Lux, and this is Alistair.” They open their bag, taking out the documents they had found previous. “Are these yours?”

            Riordan thanks them, finishes dressing, then leaves the dungeons. The palace is on high alert now, and their disguises no longer cut it – Lux ditches their helmet somewhere in a corner, relishing in the freedom from its restricting presence.

They rescue more prisoners from their shackles and cells. It seems like Howe was very much in favour of simply imprisoning anyone who dared speak against him. They escort Oswyn towards the stairs, telling him to wait, but Irminric refuses to come along. They decide to leave him for now – perhaps they can get him out when they leave.

            Howe is surrounded by guards when they find him, the mage in the back of the room. Taking advantage of the small space, Lux lets loose a storm of ice, stepping back to let Alistair and Zevran deal with those who escape through the exit. Then they all rush in, picking off those that remain.

            They save Howe for last. He’s a squirrely looking man, and he grins when they surround him, propped up against the wall. Alistair is the one to plunge his sword into his neck, cutting off his breath, and he expires with a bloody gasp.

 

Anora is dressed in a guard uniform when they return, prisoner’s trailing behind. She inclines her head towards them as they enter.

            “My thanks,” she says, taking the helmet from Erlina and putting it on.

            “Still think we can sneak out?” Lux asks, looking her up and down with a cocked eyebrow.

            “There are two sorts of people in this house: those loyal to Howe, and those loyal to me.” She lifts her chin. “If Howe’s people find me, I’ll be killed. And my people will insist on escorting me back to the palace, where my father may also have me killed.”

            They sincerely doubt it, but let it go, following her into the main hall. Which is filled with guards.

            Cauthrien stands at the front. “Wardens!” she calls. “In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms. Surrender, and you may be shown mercy.”

            Lux exchanges a look with Alistair, then holds up their hands. “We stand down.”

            They watch as Zevran and Leliana lead the freed prisoners out, followed by Anora and Erlina. Then, the heavy thud of a gauntleted fist hits their temple, and their vision blacks out.

 


	39. Free

Tori storms into the palace, her hair a mess and face unwashed. She and the rest of her small party have just returned from Soldier’s Peak, after a mostly fruitless exploration. Morrigan had flown ahead to scope out the situation and has just returned to tell them of trouble brewing.

            “What do you _mean_ you went to the Arl’s palace without me?”

            Rose looks up from her notes, and sighs. “Welcome back. Any experience breaking into Fort Drakon, perhaps?”

            “How long ago was this?” She takes a running leap, hopping onto the table and sliding a few feet until she’s in front of Rose, towering over her. Rose closes her journal and puts down her quill.

            “Few days. Don’t worry, we’re planning a prison break and you’re included.”

            “That’s why you’re my favourite.” She pats Rose on the head, then hops off. “I’m gonna get dinner, call me when you have a plan.”

 

Lux blinks blearily at the wall, back smarting. Three days into imprisonment, of which they’ve spent most of the time in torture chambers or unconscious, and they know exactly why they’re Dalish. Tight chambers are not their favourite terrain.

            Alistair, sitting against the wall, looks up. “You’re awake, that’s good.” He sighs softly. “You know, I don’t know if they’re coming anymore.”

            Lux hums, sitting up. “Then perhaps we should take care of this ourselves.”

            “What, are you going to seduce the guard?” Alistair laughs, and they roll their eyes.

            “Watch me,” they mutter, standing up and approaching the bars. “Well, hello there.”

            “If you’re not bleeding, I don’t care,” he mutters.

            They smile, leaning against the bars next to the door. “I was just lonely,” they say, voice low and eyes hooded.

            He turns to look at them, eyes roaming them up and down. “Well, I could keep you company…”

            Alistair gapes at them as they bash his face into the bars, dropping him to the floor. They turn to their fellow Warden, lifting the keys. “Coming?”

 

Donning guard armour allows them to move around the fort without drawing unwanted attention. Most other guards are too dim-witted to realise they don’t belong; as they pass the inspection and proceed through the hall, Lux mutters, “Please fire all of them when you become king.” Alistair snorts, nudging them with his shoulder.

            They pick up their own equipment on the way out, claiming it’s a parcel they’re tasked to deliver. Halfway towards Eamon’s estate, they ditch the two other guards; and shortly afterwards, their armour.

            That is when Tori finds them, dropping down from a low wall with a disbelieving look. “Oh come on,” she says, shoulders slumping. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

 

They return to Eamon and the rest of the group. Rose draws Lux into their arms with a relieved sigh, then lets them go before flying around Alistair’s neck, murmuring softly to him.

            Lux settles down next to Morrigan, who looks up briefly. “I am pleased to see your safe return.”

            “And I yours. How was Soldier’s Peak?”

            “Uneventful, besides the undead and the demons.”

            “So, traditional fare then.” They lean back against the chair, then wince and sit back up straight.

            Morrigan notices, putting a hand on their wrist and pulling them up. “Let me have a look at you.” She pulls them towards their chambers, despite their gentle protests. Pushed onto the bed, they have no choice but to let the witch undress them, looking them over. Gentle fingers move over the lash markings on their back and shoulders, the small cuts of heated blades and burn marks. The immediate sting fades under her cool touches, the fresh scent of healing magic masking the smell of sweat and dried blood.

            “Thank you,” they murmur, closing their eyes.

            She makes a small, frustrated noise, moving around to sit beside them. Something cold touches their fingers, and they open their eyes to see Morrigan pressing something into their palm.

            “I have a gift for you,” she says. “’Tis a ring. Now,” she continues as Lux opens their mouth, “before you get any foolish notions, let me explain.” They close their mouth, letting her continue. “Flemeth once gave me a ring because it allowed her to find me no matter where I went, in case I was ever captured by hunters. I disabled its powers as soon as we left the Wilds. Recently, however, I thought to change it.” She lifts Lux’s hand, sliding the ring around their finger. “Now, I will be able to find whoever wears it instead.”

            “That… that is very sweet of you.”

            “’Tis not given out of sentimentality.” Still, they catch the hint of a smile on her face. “I believe you are too important to risk. If you were captured, this ring would allow the rest of us to find you quickly.”

            “Could I find you with it?” They twist it gently, admiring its simple design.

            “Flemeth used to say that ‘twas a link between us, one that I presumed worked both ways. I never tested it, but I doubt she would have lied over such a thing.” She shrugs a shoulder. “So it would mean I am linked to you as much as you to I.”

            “So I could find you, if need be?”

            “I… I do not know.” Her voice wavers. “As I said, I never tested it. Perhaps.”

            “It is a purely practical gift, then?” They smile, teasingly.

            “I… I have no desire to see us part company so soon. Not unless we wish to, that is.” She draws away slightly. “Do not read more into it than is there. You have supplied me with equipment, certainly this is not so very different, is it?”

            “Thank you, Morrigan.” They take her hand, and she does not pull away.

            “You are welcome. Perhaps it will be useful someday.”

 

Zevran draws them away as they walk by, and they follow him into the library, where Tori and Rose are also gathered.

            “You’re probably rather exhausted from your recent exertions, but it has come to my attention that Taliesen is still out and about.”

            “Wanna come kill him with us?” Tori grins and smacks her fist into her other hand.

 

“And so here are the mighty Grey Wardens at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again.”

            Zevran sighs. “So they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?”

            “I volunteered, of course.” Taliesen laughs. “When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.”

            Lux grits their teeth, but Zevran only chuckles. “Is that so? Well here I am, in the flesh.”

            “You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don’t blame you.” He shakes his head slowly. “It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”

            “Zevran belongs with us now,” Lux says, stepping forwards with their sword drawn. A low growl underlies their voice.

            Taliesen laughs again. “You don’t even know who you’re talking about, do you?”

            “And neither do you, Taliesen.” He steps up next to them. “I’m sorry, my old friend. But the answer is no. I’m not coming back… and you should have stayed in Antiva.”

 

“And there it is,” Zevran says, standing over the body of his former companion. “Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows. They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen. So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.”

            “So, what does this mean?” Tori asks, sliding a few new daggers into her belt.

            “I do not know. It seems I have options now, whereas once I had none.” He sighs, looking thoughtful. “I suppose it would be possible for me to leave now, if I wished. I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me. I think, however,” he continues, looking at the three of them, “that I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all. And saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?”

            “If you want to go, you should go,” Lux says softly. Tori and Rose both shoot them an incredulous look.

            Zevran blinks. “But that is what I am asking you. Do you want me to go? Do you need me here?”

            “I want you to do what is best for you.” They take his hands, meeting his eyes.

            “I… am not sure how to respond to that. Nobody has ever… I mean, normally these things are decided by others.” He shuffles his feet. “Uh… then I suppose I shall… stay? Is that… good?”

            “That sounds perfect to me.” They draw him in for a kiss, only stopping when Tori starts making gagging noises.

            “Shall we head back?” Rose asks diplomatically. “Anora had something to ask of us, if I recall correctly.”

            “I would not mind a bath first,” Lux comments, holding on to one of Zevran’s hands with a smile.

 

After they are slightly cleaner and dinner has been served, they meet with Anora in Eamon’s chambers. She explains the situation, though none of the Wardens seem too convinced. The news about the Alienage, however, cannot be ignored – Tori is struck by a look of grim worry. As the queen leaves, she is the first to speak up.

            “I’m going.”

            “No one was going to stop you,” Rose says gently.

            “Dalish?”

            “I will come. If the fates of our fellow elves are at stake…”

            “Awesome. Alistair, you should come, too. As the future king of Ferelden, you should know how bad it is.” She disregards his shocked look. “Rose, too.”

            “A party of Wardens, then. I like it.”

            “Let’s go.” She strides out of the room, and they scramble to follow after her, out of the estate.


	40. Tree of the People

Lux didn’t think it possible, but the Alienage definitely got worse. They decide not to mention this to Tori, whose face is set in anger and concern.

            Soris nearly drops his cup when they enter, scrambling to his feet. “Tori! Come in, come in. We assumed you were with the other Wardens at Ostagar…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Things have been… difficult since you’ve been gone.”

            “What happened here?”

            “Arl Howe led a purge,” he answers solemnly. “Vengeance for Vaughan’s death, they say.”

            “How many died?” Lux asks, mouth dry. Soris looks at them, and recognition lights his eyes.

            “You’re the Dalish one! The one that taught me to shoot a crossbow!” At their slight smile, he continues, “I don’t know. After the purge came some sort of pestilence. It’s hard to say who was killed by soldiers and who fell to the disease.”

            “Isn’t anything being done?” Rose asks, appalled.

            “Some men came from the Tevinter Imperium. They say they have magic that protects healthy people, and they’ve got a quarantine for the sick. They…” He looks at Tori with regret. “They took Valendrian and your father, both. I’m sorry.”

            “Where’s Valora?’

            “She went to the hospice a week ago. They said…” Soris frowns. “They said she had the plague. I didn’t believe it, I mean, she was fine!” He sighs. “But they took her to quarantine. I haven’t seen her since.”

            “Where’s this quarantine?” Tori looks ready for murder, and Lux gently places a hand on her shoulder.

            “A house on the north side of the square. You can’t miss it, cousin, there’s a huge crowd there now.”

            “We need to go.” She turns to her fellow Wardens, who nod at her, and they leave Soris’ house.

            At the square, they find Shianni, loudly arguing with a group of other elves. Tori breaks off into a run.

            “Shianni? Is that really you?”

            “Maker’s breath!” Shianni stares at her, then at her other companions. “They said all the Grey Wardens died with the king. Everyone thought…” She shakes her head. “Valendrian eve held a funeral for you. Cousin, you have no idea… the things that happened after your wedding…” She lets out a breathless laugh. “I’m babbling, aren’t I? I’m so happy to see you.”

            “You’re married?” Alistair asks with a frown.

            “Betrothed. And he’s dead, so no, I’m not, anymore.”

            Alistair shuts his mouth with a surprised look. Shianni grins, and hugs Tori. “So much has happened… it’s good you’re home. These your fellow Wardens?”

            Tori nods. “Yeah. The blunt one is Alistair, Dalish over there is Lux, and that’s Rose. Shianni, what exactly happened after I left?”

            “You don’t know? Oh – of course you don’t. After you left, the regent appointed a new arl, Rendon Howe.” She pulls a face. “The first thing this human did was march troops in here for a purge. Some people – the stupid ones, mostly – blame you and Soris for standing up to Vaughan.”

            Another elf, who’s been listening to the conversation, calls out, “It’s a fact that Howe sent the soldiers here because of Vaughan’s death, Shianni. Even you know that.”

            She turns to him. “It’s a fact? Really? So we should take everything the humans say at face value?” She spits on the ground. “We’re all lazy, vulgar, thieves then? That’s what they say, isn’t it?”

            “Shianni, now is perhaps not the time,” Lux says gently. “What exactly is going on here?” They gesture at the crowd.

            Shianni deflates. “These people say they’re here to help us. Funny thing, the people they ‘help’ all disappear.”

            “That’s not true and you know it!” a woman yells. “Both my sisters got protections from the plague, and they’re fine!”

            “What about your niece, thought? And my Uncle Cyrion, and Valendrian? Where are they?”

            “What is this about my father, Shianni?” Tori asks, voice turning to ice.

            “The Tevinters quarantined your father yesterday,” she answers sullenly. “I told him not to go to the hospice. Not one elf they’ve take in there has come out again. Who knows what’s become of them.”

            “We’re gonna fix this. Just wait, okay?”

            “I knew you’d do something, cousin! Maker watch over you.”

 

“We can go in around the back. I don’t want to risk the innocent elves here, no matter how dumb they may be sometimes.”

            “Are you alright?” Rose looks at her with concern. “I thought for a moment I just heard you utter a plan that didn’t involve you charging in brainlessly.”

            “Save it for when it goes utterly wrong and we kill everything in sight. C’mon.”

            They slink into the alley, kill the guard in front of the backdoor, and head in. On the inside, they find more opposition, and orders indicating the elves are being shipped out to Tevinter. Tori nearly rips up the papers, but then Rose suggests they keep it as evidence, and she stuffs it into her pouch instead.

            They make their way through the apartment buildings, fighting more slavers along the way, until they reach a large room lined with cages that are filled to the brim with elves. Rose draws in a sharp breath, and Lux clenches the hilt of their sword.

            “I see we are to have an interruption after all,” the human man in the middle of the room says. “I am Caladrius. And you, I assume, must be the Grey Wardens I’ve heard so much about.”

            “I don’t care who you are. You’re gonna die.” Tori moves to vault over the balcony, but the man keeps talking.

            “Are you certain you wish to commit such a rash action, Grey Warden? Look around you. Surely we can reach some kind of… compromise?”

            “Yeah, nah.”

            She takes the jump, landing on a guard and driving her sword into his neck. Lux mutters an incantation, and the earth starts to quake beneath the mage’s feet, sending him tumbling to the floor.

            Alistair sends a guard trying to get at Rose flying with his shield, before cancelling out a spell Caladrius is trying to cast. Below, Tori charges at the mage with reckless abandon, taking the bursts of fire and electricity he sends out with gritted teeth as she slashes and stabs.

            Finally, the man collapses, a hand held to his bleeding abdomen. “Enough! Enough! It seems your reputation is an accurate one. I surrender.”

            Tori lets out a shaky laugh, pointing a sword at his neck. “Don’t think so.”

            “Wait!” He backs away even further, but she keeps following. “Hear me out, kind lady! Were I to… use the life force of the remaining slaves here, I could… augment your physical health a great deal!” He gives a wavering smile. “Allow me to leave this place alive and I would be more than happy to-”

            He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before her sword pierces his throat, and he collapses, gurgling. She leaves him pinned to the wall, squirming and twitching as she walks towards the cages, beginning to open them. The rest of the Wardens come down to join her.

            An older elf approaches Tori, shaking on his legs, but with hope in his eyes. “Daughter, is it really you? When they said all the Grey Wardens died at Ostagar, I prayed they were wrong.” His eyes brim up with tears. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

            She falls into his arms with a choked sob. “I couldn’t let them hurt my family.”

            “You’re so much like your mother,” her father murmurs.

            Lux turns away as the two reconcile, helping the other elves out and back towards their homes.

 

They find her again in her old home, sitting and twirling a dagger between her fingers. She looks up when her fellow Wardens come in, and smiles.

            “Dad, these are the ones I told you about. Lux is a Dalish elf, Rose is a mage from the Circle, and Alistair is a former Templar.”

            “You keep odd company, daughter.” Cyrion laughs, and nods at them. “Please, sit down. We do not have much, but… I owe you many thanks.”

            “Anything for my people,” Lux answers softly. “If you will excuse me, I need to visit someone. I will meet you back in the square.”

 

It takes a bit of asking around, but fortunately she is still alive and living in the Alienage. A few knocks on the door, and it opens on a crack.

            “Are you Liara?”

            “I am.” The elder woman blinks and stares at them, taking in their appearance. “Who is it?”

            “My name is Lux, I am of the Dalish. May I come in?”

            They are let into a small home. Liara sits down on a small couch, gesturing towards a rickety wooden chair. Lux sits down as well, folding their hands in their lap.

            “Liara, Durwen made it,” they say, watching how the woman’s eyes widen, then fill with moisture.

            “You… he made it? You took him in?”

            They nod with a soft smile. “He was my best friend for many years. I would have eventually married him, had fate not had other plans for us.”

            “Where is he now?” Her voice cracks and she dabs at her face with a sleeve.

            “I apologise.” They bow their head. “We were attacked. He sacrificed himself for me. I am certain this is not the news you wish to hear, especially not from me, but…”

            There is the creaking of springs as Liara gets up and walks towards them, clutching their hands in hers. “No, I thank you for telling me.” More tears run down her lined cheeks, and Lux’s eyes begin to fill with tears as well. “For years, I’ve wondered what became of my little boy… I’m glad he had some good years, instead of suffering here.” She gives a watery smile. “He would always tell me stories of the Dalish, that he had heard from the other kids. He was entranced by them.”

            “He died as one of them.” They reach towards their neck, taking the medallion that the spirit in the Gauntlet had given them. “I want you to have this. I have many more memories of him that I can hold on to; you can make a better use of this.”

            Liara takes it gingerly, caressing it in her hands, before putting it around her neck. “Thank you, my child. I would have been blessed to have you as my own.”

            Lux wipes at their face. “ _Ma serannas, mamae_. Thank you.”


	41. Politics

They return to Eamon’s estate, grim and determined. Together, they lay out the evidence they have, and sit around the table to discuss.

            “We need to present a united front. One of us should do the talking,” Rose says, looking around the group.

            “I think you should do it,” Tori says with a shrug. “They’re gonna listen to the human quicker than two dirty elves.”

            “I’m still here,” Alistair says, offended.

            “Yeah, and Rose is smarter.” She grins. “You just stand there and look regal.”

            “Speaking of regal,” Lux interrupts. “That is another matter we must attend to. Will we support Anora? Perhaps she and Alistair could enter a marriage of convenience…”

            Tori makes gagging sounds, and Rose shoots them a dark look. They shrug, unapologetic, but then Alistair stands up.

            “That won’t be necessary.” He clears his throat, cheeks flushed, then steps back from the table, nearly stumbling over his chair. Taking a deep breath, he sinks to one knee, head bowed. Rose lets out a soft gasp, face flushing as red as her hair. “Rosemary Amell, will you do me the honours of becoming my wife?”

            Rose, hands covering her face, nods slowly, and to cheers and whistles she stands up. She slowly extends her hands to Alistair, who takes them and kisses them.

            “The ring,” Tori hisses, and Alistair blinks before letting go and digging into his pouch. “Uh, right, hang on- there!” He takes out a ring, and Rose chokes out a laugh, letting him slide it onto her finger.

            Eamon raises his glass with a fatherly smile as they embrace and kiss on the floor.

 

Lux visits Zevran in his rooms in the evening, escaping the rowdiness of the main dining hall for a moment. The royal proposal has stirred excitement in the estate, and drinks are flowing freely, and it all became a little bit too much for them.

            Zevran smiles as they enter, putting down his set of lockpicks that he was organising. “Yes?”

            “Just needed some silence. I am now realising you might not have been the best choice for this.”

            He laughs, wrapping an arm around them as they sit down next to him on the bed. “No worries, I can be as quiet as you wish me to. Though… now that you are here…” He draws back, reaching behind him to the nightstand, then pressing something into their hand. “It seems an appropriate moment to give you this.”

            Lux raises their eyebrows as they look down onto the earring in their hand. “This is not another proposal, is it?”

            Zevran lets out another laugh. “Let’s hope not! I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows. A Rivaine merchant prince, and he was wearing a single, jewelled earring when I killed him. In fact, that’s about all he was wearing.” He waggles his eyebrows, and they chuckle softly. “I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since, and I’d like you to have it.”

            “Thank you. It is beautiful.” They smile and press a kiss to his cheek.

            “Don’t get the wrong idea about it. You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him.” He shrugs. “That means I’m free, at least for now.” He gestures dismissively. “Feel free to sell it, or wear it… or whatever you’d like. It’s really the least I could give you in return.”

            Lux frowns, looking down at the earring. “It is simply a reward for helping you?”

            “I…” He avoids their eyes as they look at him questioningly. “Look, just… just take it. It’s meant a lot to me, but so have…so has what you’ve done.” He swallows. “Please, take it.”

            “So it does not mean anything,” they say, flatly.

            “You are a very frustrating person to deal with, do you know that?” Zevran grits his teeth, taking the earring back from them. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this. You don’t want the earring? You don’t get the earring. Very simple.”

            “Very well.” They get up with a huff and storm out of the room, wiping at their face angrily.

 

They find Rose in the library, cheeks still flushed, a gentle smile on her face, which grows wider when she sees them.

            “I was wondering where you’d gone to.”

            “I simply needed to use the bathroom. What about you, hiding away in books again?” It comes out a bit sharper than intended, and they wince.

            Rose’s shoulders sag. “Just… escaping for a bit. Everything’s going so fast suddenly, I don’t… How am I going to deal with all this?” She sinks onto a stool. “I’m going to marry and become queen of Ferelden. If we survive, that is.”

            “Yes. Is that not what you want?”

            “It is!” She smiles up at them. “I love Alistair, and I would want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with him! I just… I don’t know.”

            “Yeah. I know that one.” They sigh, sinking down as well. “I apologise, I am a bit out of sorts. Morrigan is avoiding me, and Zevran… well, things are less than rosy for me. And I do not know what to do.”

            “Didn’t Morrigan give you that ring?” Lux startles, touching it reflexively, and Rose smiles. “Yeah, that was pretty obvious.”

            “She did, but then as I tried to join her in bed, she sent me away. It is very confusing.”

            “And Zevran?”

            “Tried to ‘reward’ me for my ‘help’ in killing Taliesen.” They scoff and kick their feet. “Is he jealous of Morrigan? We have spoken about my… relationships, and he said he does not mind, but…”

            “Lux, I don’t think that’s it.” Rose shuffles her stool closer to theirs, and wraps an arm around their shoulders. “I think both Zevran and Morrigan are unaccustomed to… caring so deeply for another person, and they need to deal with that realisation in their own ways.”

            “Well, why do they not just tell me this?” They let out a sound of frustration. “Things would be so much easier if people talked about their feelings!”

            “Alright, so how do you feel?”

            They shut their mouth, staring at the floor. “I… don’t know?”

            “Well,” Rose says diplomatically, standing up, “maybe you should try talking about it with them.”

            As she leaves, Lux calls out after her, “That’s not as easy as it sounds!” Her chuckles drift behind her as she walks away.

 

Lux sends up a silent prayer to the gods that no one has a hangover when they wake up. Well, except Oghren, but that’s pretty much par for the course.

            The estate is in a hustle and bustle as the last preparations for the Landsmeet are performed. Lux leaves by early morning, returning halfway through breakfast with a bundle of fabric.

            “Matching cloaks,” they explain as they unwrap it. “We needed to present a united front, yes?”

            The cloaks are soft and breezy, blue and silver to match the Warden aesthetic. Everyone receives one, even those that are not Grey Wardens themselves, and Tori grins as she dons hers over the drakescale armour, swooshing it back and forth as she gestures wildly with a sword carved from a meteorite. Rose looks regal in her new robes, the Elder Oak’s branch serving as her staff that she wields like a sceptre. Alistair has donned Cailan’s old armour, Duncan’s sword and shield strapped onto his back. Lux is dressed in their own dragonscale armour, staff officially abandoned in favour of Spellweaver. Even Falon is adorned in ornamental kaddis and a silver and blue collar.

            “Everyone ready?” Rose calls out, and a cheer of assent rises up. She nods, and Alistair offers her his arm, which she takes. “Today, we take down Loghain.”

 

Eamon steps up first, flanked on the balcony by Alistair and Rose, while the other Wardens and company stand below.

            “My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear! He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands?” He gestures wide. “Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”

            The bannorn mutters in dissent, but then Loghain starts applauding loudly, breaking the discussion with his strong voice. “A fine performance, Eamon, but no one here is taken in by it. You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is, ‘Who will pull the strings?’” He levels his gaze on Rose. “Ah! And here we have the puppeteer.” Rose simply lifts her chin in acknowledgement. “Tell us, Warden,” he continues with a sneer, “How will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?”

            “The Blight is the real threat here,” she answers calmly, “not Orlais.”

            Bann Alfstanna speaks up, voice dry. “There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear.”

            “The south is fallen, Loghain!” Wulff calls out. “Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?”

            “The Blight is indeed real, Wulff,” Loghain says placatingly. “But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers.” He gestures wildly. “And once we open our borders to the chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?”

            Rose does not look bothered by his accusations. “You allowed Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents.”

            Bann Sighard gestures angrily. “The Warden speaks truly! My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him… some of them are beyond any healer’s skill.”

            “Howe was responsible for himself. He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life. As must we all.” Loghain huffs. “But you know that. Your folk were the ones who murdered him.” Alistair straightens up, reminding the bannorn that he is the one who stopped Howe. “Whatever Howe may have done,” Loghain quickly continues, “he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home.”

            “No? Then why did you send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?” Rose gestures at the man beside her.

            “I assure you Warden, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate.”

            “Indeed?” Alfstanna’s eyes burn with hatred, and her voice is loud and clear. “My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry’s justice. Coincidence?”

            The grand cleric stands up then, drawing attention towards her. “Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain. Interference in a templar’s sacred duties is an offense against the Maker.”

            Loghain waves her off. “Whatever I have done, I will answer for later. At the moment, however, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter.”

            “What have I done?” Rose laughs. “I have protected her from you.”

            “You took my daughter – our queen – by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?”

            Anora steps in them, the crowd parting to let her through. Lux tenses – by allowing Alistair to propose to Rose, did they lose her support?

            “I believe I can speak for myself,” she says, head held high. “Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane.” She glares at him as she speaks. “This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized Cailan’s throne before his body was cold and locked me away so I could not reveal his treachery. I would have already been killed, if not for the Grey Wardens.”

            Lux blinks in confusion. This is… unexpected. Tori speaks up, however, making up for the stunned silence that both Lux and Rose find themselves locked in. “Loghain is not to be trusted.”

            “So the Warden’s influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora? I wanted to protect you from this.” Loghain turns back towards the bannorn. “My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It’s been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting. We Fereldans have proven that we will never truly be conquered so long as we are united.” He clenches his fist. “We must not let ourselves be divided now. Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself.”

            Bryland stands first. “South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens.”

            A noble they don’t recognise speaks up next. “The Wardens helped me personally in a… family matter.” A grin spreads across their face as they recall Ignacio’s promise.

            “Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!”

            “Dragon’s Peak supports the Wardens!”

            “The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens. Maker help us.”

            “I stand by Loghain! We’ve no hope for victory otherwise.”

            More voices rise up, supporting the Grey Wardens, over and over. Rose places her hands on the balcony as the ruckus dies down. “The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully.”

            “Traitors!” Loghain whips around, wild-eyed. “Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?” He gestures at Eamon. “You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land, once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk.” He snarls. “None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How _dare_ you judge me!”

            “Call off your men!” Rose calls out. “We will settle his honourably.” Her eyes meet Lux’s and Tori’s, who nod back.

            Loghain narrows his eyes, and inclines his head. “Then let us end this.”


	42. Honorable

“Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel.”

            Alfstanna speaks up. “It shall be fought according to tradition: a test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome.”

            “Will you face me yourself?” Loghain looks at her in disbelief. “Or have you a champion?”

            Rose’s eyes glance over her companions, considering her options. Alistair would be the most logical choice, but she feels he would try to kill Loghain immediately, and that’s not what she wants. Tori is a good combatant, but does not do well in a frontal one-on-one. So that leaves…

            “Lux Mahariel will serve as my champion.”

            The bannorn around them reacts exactly like she wants. Disbelief, shock. A small, slight elf? Surely they do not stand a chance. An insult to Loghain’s might.

            It’s beautiful.

 

Lux bows towards Loghain. Loghain lifts his upper lip in a sneer, inclines his head and draws his sword. Lux draws their own.

            There is a moment of quiet, then the man charges. Lux quickly sidesteps, deflecting with an arcane shield before bringing their sword up in an arc, frost biting at the man’s arm. Loghain’s eyes widen as he circles around, coming in for another swing.

            The sword slashes through them, their body momentarily immaterial, and he stumbles, unprepared for their attack as they swing up, stabbing in between the plates of his armour. He lets out a grunt, straightening back up as they dance backwards.

            They circle around each other, sizing each other up. Then Loghain charges again. Lux remains standing where they are, sword in front of them. They take his sword to their forearm, then move in with their free hand, a concentrated blast of fire knocking his shield off of his arm. He grits his teeth, pushing them away, but they don’t let up, turning on their heel to deliver another blow to his sword arm, energy discharging to deliver another concentrated burst of arcane energy. He’s knocked back, catching himself on his left arm and scrambling back upright as Lux straightens and grins.

            They charge at him, now, taking advantage of the opening in his side to drive Spellweaver in, sending him buckling to his knees. Immediately, Lux brings their sword to his neck.

            Loghain stares up at them in disbelief, but there is respect in his eyes, too. “I underestimated you, Warden. I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war. I was wrong.” He bows his head. “There’s a strength in you I’ve not seen anywhere since Maric died. I yield.”

            “I accept your surrender.” They extend a hand to help him to his feet, and he clasps it, getting up.

            Alistair storms over. “I didn’t just hear you say that. You’re going to let him live? After everything he’s done?” He gestures at the man. “Kill him already!”

            Riordan steps out of the crowd, a hand raised. “Wait! There is another option!” Alistair turns to glare at him, and he continues. “The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining.”

            “You want to make him a Warden?” Rose stares at him. “Why?”

            “There are five of us in all of Ferelden. And there are… compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon.”

            “The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not?” Anora asks quickly. “If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn’t that satisfy you?”

            “Absolutely not! Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals.” Alistair points at Riordan. “He tortured you! How can you simply forget that?”

            Rose puts a hand on his arm. “Maybe Riordan has a point.”

            “Joining the Wardens is an honour, not a punishment!” Tori nods along with Alistair’s words, obviously not happy. “Name him a Warden and you cheapen us all! I will not stand next to him as a brother. I won’t!”

            “Not all of us have spotless honour,” Rose says, amusement in her voice as she looks at Tori.

            “Some things can’t be undone or forgiven,” Alistair argues. “This goes way past having spotless honour, we aren’t talking about a minor hiccup in the past! I didn’t want to be king. I still don’t. But if that’s what it takes to see Loghain get justice, I’ll do it.” He straightens up. “I’ll take the crown.”

            “Then I will invoke the Grey Warden’s Right of Conscription.” Lux sends him a guilty look. “I remove this prisoner into my custody.”

            “I…you!” Alistair looks at them with disgust on his face.

            “It’s their right,” Rose says softly.

            “Fine.” His shoulders slump. “You want Loghain in the Grey Wardens so badly. Then I’ll be leaving the Wardens to take the throne.”

            “You can’t just stop being a Warden!” Tori argues.

            “Watch me.”

            “This can be discussed later,” Rose interrupts. “We are keeping the Landsmeet waiting.”

 

Eamon turns to Lux as the unrest settles. “As the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?”

            Lux straightens their back. “Alistair will be king, and Lady Amell will rule beside him.”

            Anora glares, obviously not pleased with this turn of events. Eamon turns towards her, next. “Anora, the Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to the king, and relinquish all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs.”

            “If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon, you know nothing of me.” She sends an especially nasty look towards Tori, leaving them to wonder what the rogue promised her.

            Loghain sighs. “Anora, be reasonable.”

            The woman slumps, and nods. “Very well, Eamon. I will make the oath.”

 

“What the fuck.” Tori jabs her finger into Lux’s chest. “What did you think? And you!” She whirls on Rose. “Making the mage fight?”

            “Lux is a capable fighter. They have been training. You saw, didn’t you?”

            “As for my thoughts, Riordan is right. We need more Wardens.” Lux lets Wynne tend to the wound on their arm. “Loghain might be a scoundrel, but he is also a wizened general. We can use a man like him.”

            “You’re crazy,” she mutters. “Both of you. He’s gonna turn against us, just you wait.”

            “We shall see. He might not even survive the Joining.”

            They all watch as Loghain takes the chalice, and drinks. He collapses to the floor, soundlessly.

            Riordan walks over, checks his breathing. They know before he looks up.

            “He will live.”

            “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

 

When Loghain wakes up, Lux sits in the chair opposite him, a faint smile on their face.

            “I passed your test. Fate has a twisted sense of humour, it seems.” He sighs. “I suppose you think I’m some sort of monster. More so since I survived your ritual: you keep striking at me, and I just refuse to die decently.”

            “I do not think you a monster.”

            He sits up, shaking his head. “You’re a poor liar, you know. It’s kind of you to say so, all the same.” He shrugs a shoulder. “We must settle things between us somehow or other, or none of us will get any work done. So, what will it be?”

            “You are my responsibility now. We are going to have to work together.”

            “And just like that, we’re allies?” He scoffs. “I can’t imagine it’s so simple. I don’t know what concession you want from me, Warden. I expect my word will not satisfy you.”

            “You are a Grey Warden now, too, you know.” They smile faintly, leaning forwards, elbows resting on their knees.

            “Indeed, I’d almost forgotten that. Thank you for the reminder.” He frowns. “I think it’s time we got to the point here: what do you want from me? I can’t imagine you spared my life in the Landsmeet by accident. You have some plan in mind.”

            “You tell me: what do you want?”

            “What I want? What an odd question…” Loghain narrows his eyes, thinking. “I want to ride back to Denerim and sit in the war room and find no empty chairs at the table. I want to lose nothing else. I want a line, clearly drawn, that I can defend.” He sighs. “I want an end to this war. All of this can rightly be called my fault. Whether or not you can do better remains to be seen.” He locks eyes with them. “But if you can make this the end, Warden, I will follow you. I swear it.”

            Lux nods and stands up. “We will end this Blight. Together.”

 

They set out for Redcliffe with Eamon’s armies by morning. Travel goes slower than usual, with such large groups, but morale, despite recent tensions, is high as it can be.

            They camp out at night, and Lux sidles up next to Zevran by the campfire. The Antivan elf looks down at them briefly, then sighs.

            “You seem… different,” they note.

            “Hmm. I thought that this might be it.” He shakes his head. “Are you certain you wish to talk about this? I really do not know what to say.”

            “I want to know what has changed. Please.”

            “Very well.” He lets out another slow sigh, looking down at his hands. “An assassin must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good.” He shrugs. “To expect anything more would be reckless. I thought it was the same between us. Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…”

            They nod, slowly. “I understand.”

            “I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favour of the kill. Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong. Yet I cannot help it.” He clutches at their hands. “Since you first asked me into your bed, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?”

            “I do. I feel the same way.”

            “Then that is enough for me.” He smiles and pulls away, taking in a deep breath. “I… I still have the earring. I would like to give it to you…” He holds it out in his hand. “As a token of affection. Will you take it?”

            “That still sounds like a proposal.”

            “Not unless you wish it.”

            They smile, taking out one of the studs in their ear and putting the earring in, before drawing Zevran up in their arms. “Blight first, then we can talk more.”

            “I could not agree more, _mi amor_.”


	43. Bittersweet

“If I despise you, it’s because you deserve it.” Tori shoulders her way past Loghain, glaring all the way.

            The man stares at her back with shrug. “Ah, now there’s the venom I expected. Well, is that it? Surely you’ve more to say to me than that.” He smirks as Tori turns around. “Go on. Try out all the curses and insults you know. I’ll teach you some new ones if they don’t suffice.”

            “You’re awfully smug for a failure,” she snaps.

            “Ah, now that actually struck a glancing blow! Good work. And now what?” He holds his hands up invitingly. “Am I to be some trophy of your victory? The defeated enemy you drag about on a leash wherever you go? Or have you some worse fate in mind for me?”

            “Just stay out of my way.”

            “Or what? You’ll kill me?” He barks out a laugh.” The Joining was my death sentence anyway. It’s hardly my fault it failed to produce the desired result, Warden.”

            “This is still your death sentence. Remember that.” She storms off.

            “I assure you,” Loghain mutters, “it’s foremost on my mind.”

            “Maybe avoid her,” Lux suggests, walking up beside him. “She gets like that.”

            “Like an irate porcupine?”

            “She hated me when we first met.” They shrug a shoulder. “Then again, I was not at my best behaviour either.”

            “No fellow elf solidarity?”

            They laugh. “Do you see the markings on my face?” They shake their head. “I was a stuck-up prick, and she resented me for it. I deserved it.”

            “As do I.” He sighs. “But it is just so easy to antagonise her.”

            “Oh, I know.” They pat his shoulder as they walk on. “I know.”

 

The village is overrun when they arrive. They fight their way through to the castle, felling all darkspawn in their path.

            Riordan meets them in the hall of the castle. “It is a relief to see you unharmed.”

            “Do you have news?” Tori asks, straight to the point.

            “The darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number, I’m afraid. It was assumed the horde was marching in this direction… but that is not true.”

            Eamon joins them, shaking his head. “Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is, in fact, heading towards Denerim. They will be at the capital within the week.”

            “You are sure?” Tori glances back at the others, who meet her alarmed stare.

            Riordan nods slowly. “I ventured close enough to ‘listen in’, as it were. I am quite certain.”

            “Why then did you say it was headed here?” Lux asks with a frown.

            “The darkspawn line is wide, and many of them roam away from the main horde. Until now, most of them have been spotted here in the west.”

            Alistair makes a throwaway comment, glaring at Loghain, but Rose shushes him with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

            “There is, I’m afraid, one other piece of news that is of even greater concern,” Riordan continues. “The archdemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde.”

            “Maker preserve us,” Teagan mutters.

            “But we can’t reach Denerim within a week, can we? It’s too far,” Alistair says.

            “We must begin a forced march to the capital immediately, with what we have. Denerim must be defended at all costs.”

            “The archdemon is what’s important,” Rose notes. Riordan nods.

            “And only the Grey Wardens can defeat the archdemon. That is why we must go.”

            “Then we march,” Alistair answers. “And hope the army we’ve collected here gives us the chance we need. Arl Eamon, how long before the army can set out?”

            “By daybreak.”

            “Then let’s get them ready. I won’t let all those people die without giving them a chance.”

            “I would like to speak with just the Wardens, if I may,” Riordan says. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”

            “We will be along shortly.”

 

Riordan’s face looks grave as they all gather in his room. “You are all here. You are new to the Grey Wardens, and you may not have been told how an archdemon is slain.” He looks at them all. “I need to know if that is so.”

            “You mean there’s more to it than just, say, chopping off its head?” Alistair asks, arms crossed. He hadn’t wanted to come, but Rose dragged him along, and now he’s standing as far away from Loghain as he can.

            Riordan sighs. “So it is true. Duncan had not yet told you. I had simply assumed…” He frowns. “Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?”

            “It obviously has something to do with the taint within us,” Rose answers. Tori nods along with her.

            “That is exactly what it involves. The archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough. The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body.” He lets this information sink in for a moment. “The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden... its essence travels into the Grey Warden, instead.

            “And… what happens to the Grey Warden?” Lux asks carefully.

            “A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon is destroyed… and so is the Grey Warden.”

            “Meaning…” Alistair blinks slowly. “The Grey Warden who kills the archdemon… dies?”

            “Yes. Without the archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way.”

            “So it’s up to us to kill this thing,” Tori says with a shrug of her shoulders.

            “In Blights past, when the time came the eldest of the Grey Wardens would decide which amongst them would take that final blow. If possible, the final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer.” Riordan sighs. “But if I fail, the deed falls on you. The Blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that.” He shakes his head and gestures at them. “But enough. There will be much to do tomorrow, and little enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms.”

            “I will see you once the army is ready to march, then,” Alistair replies, nodding at him. “I guess this ends soon, one way or another.”

            “That it does, my friend, that it does.”

 

“Loghain should do it. If Riordan can’t, I mean.” Tori has her arms crossed, shoulders hunched up.

            “We should all be ready to sacrifice ourselves. We are Grey Wardens.” Lux sighs. “But, if this is our last battle…”

            “Not there yet, Dalish.”

            “Agreed. Goodbyes can wait until we get to Denerim.” Rose smiles, then walks over and embraces Tori. The rogue mutters some soft protests, but lets her, in the end. Rose then lets go, opening her arms towards Lux, who steps into them with a soft smile.

            “I will always consider you my friends,” they say. “No matter what happens.”

            “Love you too, you sap. Now, I’m going to bed.” Tori salutes with two fingers, then heads off towards her room.

            Rose chuckles, looking after her as she retreats, then nods. “I’m going to find Alistair.”

            “Goodnight.” Lux heads towards their own room with a soft sigh.

 

Morrigan stands by the fire as they enter, backlit against the light. “Do not be alarmed. It is only I.”

            “Morrigan? Is everything alright?”

            “I am well.” She turns to face them. “’Tis you who are in danger. I have a plan you see. A way out. The loop in your hole.” She approaches, slowly. “I know what happens when the archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you this does not need to be.”

            “And how do you know about this?” They start slowly unbuckling their armour, murmuring a thanks when she comes over to help.

            “I know a great many things. How I know is not quite as important as what I am offering you, however. I offer a way out.” She pauses for effect. “A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.”

            “Nothing comes without a price,” they reply, waving a hand.

            “Perhaps. But that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to offer, nothing more.”

            “Very well.” They shrug a shoulder. “What is your plan?”

            “What I propose is this: lay with me. Here, tonight. And from our joining, a child will be conceived.” She runs a hand across their shoulder. “The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process.”

            They turn to look at her, frowning. “You will have my child, make it a darkspawn.”

            “No.” She shakes her head. “I conceive a child, one who will be born with the soul of an Old God. I seek the essence of the Old God that once was and not the dark forces that corrupted it. Some things are worth preserving in this world.” She lifts their chin up with one finger. “Make of that what you will. After this is done, you allow me to walk away… and you do not follow.” She meets eyes with them. “Ever. This child will be mine to raise as I wish.”

            “And what do you intend to do with this child?” They refuse to say _ours, our child_.

            “I do not wish to tell you.”

            “I insist,” they hiss.

            “The child will represent freedom for an ancient power, a chance to be reborn apart from the taint. Is that not reason enough to do it?” Morrigan huffs. “I will raise the child apart from the rest of society, and teach it to respect that from which it came. Beyond that, you need know nothing else.”

            “And this is why you have been so friendly to me?”

            “Caring for you as I’ve come to… that was not part of the plan. But I cannot let what I feel interfere with what I must do. This is important to me.” She steps back with a sigh. “The fact that it may save your life makes me all the more determined to see it done. Please do not cloud the issue. If you feel anything for me, then accept that it will make what we must do...” Her eyes meet theirs again, yellow to yellow. “That much easier.”

            “Will I ever see you again?” Their legs tremble underneath them.

            “After the archdemon has been slain? No. No, you will never see me again.” They hate how much the stab to their chest hurts. “Refuse my offer, however, and I leave now. This is simply how it must be.”

            “Morrigan…” they breathe, hating how it makes her recoil, cast down her eyes. Hating how their voice shakes. “I will give you this. For me, for my fellow Wardens… I will do this.”

            “A wise decision.” She approaches once more, extending a hand, which Lux takes. “Come, my love. Put the thoughts of the ritual aside, and let us make this last night together one to remember.”


End file.
